A Most Ingenious Paradox
by Penpusher
Summary: Four years on from Hogwarts, Ginny has faced up to Harry's indifference and made a life for herself. However, she is forced to re-examine her feelings when he returns to London to solve a mystery and save his friends from grave danger. REVISED AND BETAED.
1. Chapter One Their Various Ways

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
  
Chapter One - "Their Various Ways"  
  
Hermione looked up as the door of her study creaked open. Two bright brown eyes framed by deep red hair peered hesitantly around the door with a questioning look.  
  
"Fred let me in," said the eyes, blinking timidly.  
  
Hermione sighed with a mixture of weariness and frustration and threw down her quill.  
  
"Come on in, Ginny, I could really do with a break."  
  
She stretched sinuously, wincing as her muscles protested. The other girl came into the room, sinking down in a corner of the leather sofa. Hermione smiled. Ginny was average height, slender and angular, but right at that moment curled up on the sofa, she resembled nothing so much as a small tabby cat.  
  
"I think I've reached saturation point anyway," Hermione announced, getting up from the desk and aiming for the drinks cabinet.  
  
"Honestly," she continued over her shoulder, hands busy with glasses, "I really wish I had access to a central database, like Muggles have - one with an efficient search facility. I'd save hours upon hours of hard slog if only the Ministry, not to mention my Chambers, would wake up to the twenty-first century."  
  
She raised a bottle of amber liquid with a questioning look. Ginny held up the index finger and thumb of her right hand to indicate a small measure. There was a pause as Hermione poured the drinks, adding generous amounts of mixers and ice. Ginny got up from the sofa and paced restlessly around the room, stopping at the large desk. She peered down at the papers spread all over it and frowned.  
  
"You're completely swamped with work!" she exclaimed. Hermione sighed.  
  
"Tell me about it," she murmured.  
  
Hermione was an Advocate, a wizarding barrister. After graduating from Hogwarts, she had taken professional training in both wizarding and Muggle legal matters for two years before joining her present chambers as an Advocate's Clerk for a further year's training (most of which seemed to be spent archiving past cases). Her impressive work record led her Chambers to offer her a permanent position as a Junior Advocate. This was her first year as a fully-qualified lawyer, and on a good day the workload was suffocating. This was evidently not a good day.  
  
Ginny crossed to the window where she stood gazing out at the traffic, biting her lip. Hermione raised a quizzical eyebrow.  
  
"You're jumpy tonight," she remarked, handing her the tumbler, now full of a pale amber liquid. Without speaking, Ginny took the glass and swallowed half its contents in one go.  
  
"Great Merlin!" Hermione stared at her in astonishment. "You'd better tell me all about it."  
  
She motioned Ginny to sit down. The other girl shook her head vigorously with a sound that was half laugh, half sob.  
  
"It's nothing really, just another argument." Her eyes trailed away from Hermione's.  
  
"With David?"  
  
"Who else?" Ginny took a more measured sip of her drink and sank down once again on the sofa.  
  
"Oh, it's the same old tale again. Why do I carry on working with Ernie at Wizard Radio when I could be, in his words, 'raking it in' by becoming a full-time professional singer."  
  
"Hmm." Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "Is it just the money situation, do you think, or is it a little more than that?"  
  
"I wish I knew." Ginny paused, took a shaky breath then expelled it again with an impatient sigh.  
  
"It's true we're, well, rather on our beam ends, you know," she began, "what with the mortgage on the flat and David's agency business not doing as well as it might. He doesn't say much, but I think I'm the only really bankable artist on his books. I have to confess, it's rather demeaning. I mean, being thought of as a money-making commodity rather than a person by your partner, even after working hours and in the privacy of your own home!"  
  
Hermione could see that Ginny was far more upset by the situation than she was letting on. Damn that idiot! She gritted her teeth and for what seemed like the hundredth time, swallowed the words that threatened to spill out. Instead, she reached out for Ginny's hand, noting absently how cold she seemed, and schooled her expression into one of interested sympathy.  
  
"Gin, darling, you can't afford any more mistakes." Hermione shook her head sadly.  
  
"You've had nine Unauthorized Use of Magic Notices in the past year. One more and you're done for; you'll have to go before a Ministry Tribunal! And I don't think explaining that you're just trying to make a living is going to be a sufficient defence."  
  
The other girl shook her head.  
  
"I know, I know," she replied, miserably, "but I want to help him so much. And it's so tempting just to add a little magical something to my performance. Not for my own benefit, of course, but to get more bookings, to boost his reputation. Just to help him get his business going just a little better. Oh Hermione, I feel so helpless!"  
  
Ginny's eyes were shining with unshed tears.  
  
"However much effort I put into my singing, I'm never going to be able to achieve all I know is possible out of a performance by Muggle means alone."  
  
Hermione took a deep breath.  
  
"Ginny, I know I've said this before ."  
  
"No, Hermione, I know what you're going to say, and I just can't do it." The corners of Ginny's mouth turned down mutinously.  
  
"But if he loves you, he'll accept you for what you are, and you won't have to keep suppressing your natural talents - which were formidable when you left Hogwarts. I know because Minerva McGonagall told me!"  
  
"He's a Muggle, Hermione!"  
  
"So? There have been wizard/Muggle matches before now. Not often, I grant you - we do tend to stick to our own kind - but it's quite possible for Muggles to adjust perfectly happily to our world."  
  
Ginny was shaking her head emphatically.  
  
"Three years is a long time, Hermione." Her huge eyes were sad. "Too long to simply come home one night and tell him, out of the blue, that I'm not the professional singer he's had on his books, and incidentally been living with, for most of that time. I am, in fact, a witch. Oh, no, not the pointed hat, rotten teeth, 'Bubble bubble toil and trouble' type witch, but a serious practicing sorceress. Excuse me while I ring the Funny Farm!"  
  
Ginny paused for breath and Hermione burst out laughing. Ginny stared.  
  
"I'm glad you find it amusing!" she retorted huffily, knocking back the rest of her drink. Hermione looked at her affectionately.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ginny, but really - don't you think you're exaggerating just a tiny bit? Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan have both dated Muggle girls in their time ."  
  
"Yes, but did they tell them the truth?"  
  
"Well, no, not so far as I'm aware ."  
  
"Well, there you are then!" Ginny sat back contemplating her empty glass gloomily. Hermione got up to refill it.  
  
"Come to think of it, Seamus's dad is a Muggle," she continued thoughtfully, "and his mum didn't let on she was a witch until after they were married!"  
  
Ginny's lips twitched slightly.  
  
"Yes," she replied, against a bubble of laughter, "I remember Seamus said it was a bit of a shock when he found out."  
  
Both girls chuckled reminiscently. Ginny shook her head sending her long hair flying.  
  
"It's no good sitting here being miserable and making you miserable too."  
  
Abandoning her refilled drink, she jumped up from the sofa.  
  
"Come on!" she said to a surprised Hermione. "Let's go to Giovanni's - it's 8.45pm, I'm starving and he's doing a special hot Americana topping this week."  
  
Hermione wavered, glancing guiltily at the unfinished casework, then stood too.  
  
"You're on!" she exclaimed, defiantly emptying her glass. She snatched up her handbag and followed Ginny from the room, leaving the paper-covered desk to rot. Sometimes there were more things to life than research.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
The two girls made a striking pair. Hermione, tall and elegant, was dressed formally in a smart grey suit with her long, sleek hair pinned into a shining French pleat. By contrast, Ginny's clothes were casual and her hair had a mind of its own. Long, red tendrils snaked down almost to the base of her spine, curling round her shoulders like some exotic, climbing plant. However, its waywardness detracted little from the exquisite delicacy of her features. Of the two, Hermione may have turned heads, but it was Ginny on whom the eyes lingered.  
  
A couple of streets on, the girls turned into a small, dimly lit Bistro that, despite it being a midweek night, was already fairly busy. They made a dash for a window table just becoming vacant and settled to peruse the vast and comprehensive menu. Giovanni himself came to take their order.  
  
"'Ermione, and the little Ginny! I 'ave meessed you! Per'aps you 'ave found another place to eat, eh?"  
  
Hermione grinned broadly at his mock-soulful manner and his twinkling black eyes.  
  
"Now, Giovanni, you know very well we would never go anywhere else - not while you still make such wonderful toppings!"  
  
"Mmm!" agreed Ginny, glancing at the chalkboard containing the day's specials. "Well, it's no contest for me. I'm having the Americana Hot Chilli with a large bottle of sparkling mineral water!"  
  
Nodding his head, the little man finished marking his order pad and smiled at them with affection.  
  
"I remember when you all moved 'ere - the parties!" he began reminiscently. "The celebrations! All your friends from school - Fred and George, Ron, Lee and Oliver - and 'Arry, I was forgetting 'Arry. 'Ave you 'eard anything from 'im? When will 'ee come 'ome?"  
  
Ginny smiled.  
  
"I had a letter from him today, as a matter of fact," she replied. "He's still enjoying life, but he's a long way from becoming a native Californian, I'm delighted to say."  
  
"'Ee come back? Soon?"  
  
With a small smile, Hermione shook her head.  
  
"I don't think so, Giovanni."  
  
The little man nodded and, spying a couple of new patrons by the door, left the table to place their order.  
  
"That's strange." Ginny spoke without looking up, toying with a bread stick as she contemplated the pattern on the tablecloth.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Giovanni suddenly mentioning Harry like that."  
  
"Why particularly?"  
  
"Well, he hasn't asked about him for months - I thought he'd forgotten Harry. Heck, I thought everyone had."  
  
"Have you forgotten him, Ginny?"  
  
Caught unawares, the redhead looked up, frowning.  
  
"Goodness, no! Honestly, Hermione, how could I ever forget Harry?"  
  
"Exactly. Neither could I."  
  
Ginny grinned suddenly and raised her glass of mineral water.  
  
"Well, I must say you've got good reason to keep him in mind, haven't you?" she said in an amused tone. She raised her glass in the manner of a mock- toast. "Here's to Harry Potter, your landlord!" The two girls clinked their glasses. Hermione returned the grin.  
  
"He would have been your landlord too," she replied, "if things had worked out as he planned."  
  
Ginny lowered her eyes.  
  
"Well," she countered, "come to that, I have a vague memory that my youngest brother was originally supposed to figure somewhere in the Grand Scheme of things. Was he not?"  
  
Hermione had the grace to look a little shamefaced.  
  
"Alright, point taken," she replied with a wry smile.  
  
Ginny raised a speculative eyebrow but declined to comment.  
  
"Speaking of which," Hermione continued thoughtfully, "Harry being my landlord, I mean, I really should start thinking about the next project."  
  
"On the house, you mean?" said Ginny, her interest caught. Hermione nodded.  
  
"Well, the house itself is pretty much sorted, at least as far as we need it to be at the moment," she began, "but Harry particularly wanted me to make some sort of start on the garden. I mean, really, it's been two years since he bought it and the place is still a jungle. It's so huge I have no idea what's out there. He could have made an independent sale of the grounds to developers and recouped some of the fortune he spent on the place. I advised him to do just that, but he wasn't interested."  
  
Ginny frowned.  
  
"You know," she said, thoughtfully, "that house is really pretty unusual. There aren't many large, period properties left in London that haven't already been converted into flats. Not to mention the grounds. It must have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for an army of potential developers when it came on the market. So how did Harry manage to pip them all to the post?"  
  
Hermione smiled and shrugged.  
  
"You know Harry," she replied, "he does tend to get what he wants, doesn't he? But, you know, I often wonder why he wanted something like that in the first place. I mean it's a beautiful house, and in a prime area to boot, but it was in a very poor state of repair when I moved in. Why choose to sink all his money into something which was going to need so much work when all the time he was planning to move abroad?"  
  
Ginny started to attack her pizza.  
  
"Well, he did live in London for a year before taking off to LA," she said in muffled tones, around her mouthful, "and you've got to admit, he did sort out some of the basic renovations before he accepted his new job. Have you never asked him?"  
  
Hermione shook her head, also beginning to eat.  
  
"To be honest, I was so impressed when I saw the place, I didn't want to dissuade him. And besides, his reasoning seemed very plausible at the time. You know, rising market, excellent investment, couldn't lose money, providing a home for his friends, etc. etc. Which was extremely welcome at the time, I can tell you, as I was absolutely stony broke during my Pupilage."  
  
Hermione favoured her friend with a candid glance.  
  
"And, yes," she said, "I'm quite sure he intended Ron to move in here too, but . ah, well. That's all water under the bridge now."  
  
Ginny gave a small smile, swallowed her mouthful and took a sip of water.  
  
"I think Harry may have been a little optimistic if he expected Ron to share a house with you on a platonic basis," she replied carefully. "I mean, it's a bit much to expect when you'd just split up after - what was it? - two years at Hogwarts. The wounds must still have been a bit raw."  
  
Hermione grimaced.  
  
"Well, he's done more or less the next best thing, hasn't he? Ron, I mean."  
  
She started to saw her pizza into strips with unnecessary vigour as she spoke, not meeting Ginny's eyes.  
  
"Sharing that flat round the corner with Oliver, Lee and George - honestly, I know it's big, but it's got to be a bit cramped when they're all home, rare though that might be." Hermione stabbed discontentedly at her pizza. "They make me feel like I'm rattling around in that mausoleum with only Fred to trip over. And when he goes away on his business trips, the silence is more than even I find pleasant."  
  
She set down her cutlery and sighed, smiling ruefully at her friend.  
  
"I know Lavender and I didn't always see eye to eye," she continued, "but I liked her and I was sorry when she moved out to live with that Gringotts chap - what was his name? - Aurelius, that's it. Charlie filled the gap for quite a while; that last case of dragonscore took a long time to completely heal, even with Madame Pomfrey's help. Now he's gone back to Rumania and I miss the company."  
  
Ginny nodded.  
  
"Time for you to find another housemate - perhaps several."  
  
Hermione looked dubious.  
  
"Who did you have in mind? I'd be delighted if Ron and all his fellows would move in, but I really don't think that's at all likely."  
  
Ginny smiled and shook her head.  
  
"You'll never guess who I ran into last week? Colin Creevey!"  
  
Hermione's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.  
  
"Colin the Camera? With the little brother, Dennis?"  
  
"The very same."  
  
"Well, it's a small world indeed. What's he doing at the moment?"  
  
Ginny's smile broadened.  
  
"Well, that's just it. He's swapped his camera for - get this - paints and chisels. He's become an artist and sculptor and is getting quite a following amongst both wizards and Muggles. The trouble is, his studio is near Shepherd's Bush and he's living somewhere in Clapham - ghastly journey, and neither property is very satisfactory. He'd absolutely kill to be able to live here - if he could afford it, that is."  
  
"Oh, he could afford it, all right!" Hermione's eyes were alight with possibility. "I'll make it a condition of his tenancy that he put in at least five hours a week remodeling the garden. That'll pay some of his rent and give me some much needed assistance!"  
  
The two girls raised their glasses of mineral water in a good-humoured toast.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
It was really far too late to be getting home on a midweek night, Hermione decided as she walked up the driveway to the front door of Harry's House, weary but relaxed.  
  
"Galileo," she muttered absently at the lion-shaped knocker on the front door. The beast fixed her with a baleful glare before the door swung open into a still-lit hallway. As she hung up her coat, a head poked into the hall from the kitchen.  
  
"Ah, so there is life in Harry's House yet," said a cheerful voice. Hermione smiled.  
  
"Hello, err - " squinting as the owner of the voice moved into the light, "Fred," she finished confidently, catching sight of a pale, vertical scar down one side of his face. The red-haired man grinned.  
  
"All those years you've known us, Hermione, and you still can't tell us apart."  
  
She snorted and plonked her umbrella into the stand.  
  
"Save it for those who need to be fooled, sunshine." His smile widened.  
  
"It does no harm to keep in practice," he replied mildly. "Fooling my family's one thing, but fooling you - well, it's becoming almost impossible."  
  
Her eyes narrowed.  
  
"I'd take that as a compliment - except that I know you too well. There's something bothering you, isn't there?" He looked away.  
  
"Now why ever would you think that?"  
  
She made a "tut-tutting" noise.  
  
"Since when do you haunt the front door looking for company? Come on, Fred, don't beat about the bush!" He shrugged.  
  
"Nothing new, really," he replied, "I'm just starting to get pretty worried now. It's been a month and a half. Six weeks and still no word. It's not like him to stay under so long without contacting me. I've half a mind to call in ."  
  
Hermione shook her head firmly, cutting him off.  
  
"No, Fred, give it a bit more slack before you do that. After all, it's not as if anyone else can help, is it? You could be putting the whole operation in jeopardy."  
  
Surreptitiously, she looked at her watch. Nearly 11pm. She sighed inwardly, feeling herself sag with fatigue.  
  
"Come on," she said, patting his shoulder and gently steering him into the kitchen. "Let's get some cocoa and thrash this out a little more."  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
David Markland staggered out of the shower, dragged on a bathrobe and sauntered into the kitchen drying his hair with a towel to find Ginny sharing a pot of coffee with a complete stranger. A complete male stranger at that. David glowered from the doorway until she looked up and gave him a quick smile.  
  
"Good morning, sweetie," she said, pouring some black coffee into a mug. He took it without comment. "This is Colin Creevey."  
  
The stranger stood up and offered a hand to shake, which Markland pointedly ignored. Ginny's smile dropped a little, but she rallied quickly.  
  
"Colin's an artist - a painter and sculptor," she began, and proceeded to explain about his accommodation problem. Markland frowned.  
  
"I supposed St. John's Wood is a lot nearer than Clapham," he remarked, "but it's going a long way up market, isn't it?"  
  
Embarrassed by his lack of tact, Ginny continued quickly.  
  
"Well, there may be a solution to both problems - we're going to see if we can't thrash it out on Saturday." She smiled brightly. "There's actually some kind of outhouse in the grounds. Hermione told me about it - probably old stables or something. If it's suitable, Colin thinks he might be able to renovate it into a studio."  
  
"It doesn't have to be anything too special," put in Colin nervously, "as long as the light's good, I don't really need much else to start with."  
  
Ginny frowned slightly and gave him a gentle kick under the table. Colin stiffened.  
  
"Of course, I'd like to have running water, drainage - er, utilities eventually," he added quickly, his ears burning. Nervous of Muggles at the best of times and sensitive to atmosphere, Colin was fast becoming very uncomfortable.  
  
Markland tossed off his coffee and fixed the other man with a searching glare. Colin smiled uneasily. He had always been a weedy, scrawny little kid at Hogwarts, with an unfortunate manner that put one in mind of a small terrier. As an adult, he had changed, but not enough. He ran a hand through his mousy-brown, professionally highlighted hair and wondered nervously if he had overdone the Sun tanning Charm for so early in the season.  
  
Although only partially dressed, David Markland betrayed no self- consciousness. Indeed, his bathrobe positively screamed major fashion house and had probably cost more than Colin's entire wardrobe put together. Slamming his empty cup down on the table, Markland turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen without another word. Ginny smiled apologetically.  
  
"He's not really a morning person," she explained uncomfortably. I'll bet! thought Colin. He got up to leave, trying very hard not to run. Ginny followed him to the front door.  
  
"9.30am then, at Harry's house?" she said. Colin nodded vigorously then bolted for the lift.  
  
"Until Saturday then." Ginny said, raising her hand to the rapidly closing lift doors. She paused for a moment then sighed.  
  
Back in the kitchen, Markland, now fully dressed, frowned petulantly out of the window as he drank the last of the coffee.  
  
"So Hermione wants to share her house with that little squirt, does she?" he said as Ginny entered, without turning.  
  
"He's an old school friend," she replied, reaching for the empty cafetiere. "Another coffee?"  
  
He turned abruptly and threw his mug into the sink. Ginny winced involuntarily, but fortunately it bounced.  
  
"It's like a ghetto over there in St. John's Wood with all your ex-school friends!" Markland shook his head, lips compressed into a hard line. "What is it about that part of London?" Ginny shook her head.  
  
"No, David, you've got it all wrong," she protested. "It's just that Ron was lucky enough to find a flat round the corner from Harry's House ."  
  
"Harry's House, Harry's House? What a stupid name for such an incredible pile. Your ex-boyfriend must have a high opinion of himself if that's what he named it."  
  
"David, please. Harry didn't name the house anything. It hasn't got a name. It's just always been known as Harry's House to the rest of us. And he's not my ex-boyfriend, he never was."  
  
"You told me you had a crush on him at school."  
  
"At school, yes - David, it was a long time ago!"  
  
"How do I know what you got up to with him?"  
  
"David, we were teenagers, you're being ridiculous ."  
  
"What did he do - go to the States without you? Dump you for his career?"  
  
"You're not making any sense. We've been through this before ." She closed her eyes against the pain.  
  
"That's the trouble - we've never even been through it once! You won't give me a straight answer to anything concerning Harry Potter."  
  
"I tell you everything I can ." she muttered desperately.  
  
"But never the truth."  
  
"Alright! Okay!" Ginny buried her hands in her hair. She exhaled with a sudden whoosh of air and leaned against the counter, fighting for control. Abruptly she pushed herself upright and faced him with a level of defiance she had never shown before in his presence, let alone directed at him. Markland checked an involuntary step backwards.  
  
"You want to know why Harry Potter left England. Why he accepted a job half a continent away from all his friends and family?" Her words were clipped, her voice breathless.  
  
"When he was in the sixth year, he went out with a girl in the year above him. He'd liked her for a long time, and he'd never really been out with anyone else because of that. No one at school knew it, but they were serious, you know? Going to buy a flat together once he'd graduated, perhaps get married - I don't know."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"She died." Ginny's voice was flat, emotionless. "Ron told me Harry was never the same again. I don't know why he bought the house, but I think that would explain to most normal people's satisfaction why he might have left the country, don't you?"  
  
And for once, Ginny walked out after a row with David, having had the last word.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Slamming the front door behind her, Ginny lunged for the lift and punched the wall in frustration as the doors closed in her face. Resolutely, she picked up her briefcase and sprinted down the several flights of stairs into the basement, arriving at the car parking level out of breath but determined David should not catch up with her, even if he wanted to. She backed her ancient red Nissan out of its parking space, sneering at David's Jeep: who needed an off-road vehicle in London, unless they were competing for Poser of the Year? By the time she had done battle with the rush hour traffic and had pulled in to her parking space at Wizard Radio, Ginny was almost sobbing with frustration. She wished she had skipped her customary call at the office and just driven on to her first appointment. She didn't relish talking to Ernie.  
  
Wizarding Radio was housed in a small building with two floors and a basement: the top floor was the administrative centre, the basement contained the electronics and the recording studios, and the middle floor took in the Hospitality Suite and the open-plan press office where Ginny worked when she wasn't in the studios. Ernie MacMillan was already at his desk, shouting at someone down the phone, his language liberally seasoned with expletives and some downright threats. He was a big man, tall, hunky and slightly overweight with irregular features, as though someone had rearranged them with a blunt instrument at some time. Most people walked stiff-legged around Ernie, but Ginny knew that the tough-guy pose was exactly that. Ernie was a complete pussycat, if you knew the buttons to press.  
  
Ernie took one look at Ginny's tearstained face, spat an abrupt insult in farewell, and slammed the phone down.  
  
"Now what?" he growled. "You're supposed to be interviewing that crazy witch in Sussex who says her cat can sing opera. You can't interview anyone in the state you're in. Just a minute." He stopped ranting long enough to mutter "Sonorus", then bellowed:  
  
"TOM, GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THAT CHAIR AND DOWN TO PRESS, PRONTO!"  
  
Gingerly, Ginny removed her fingers from her ears.  
  
"Wouldn't it have been simpler to have used the telephone?" she asked in a pained voice. In response, Ernie gave her a wide genuine smile.  
  
"Yeah, but not nearly as much fun!"  
  
A disheveled looking young wizard burst in through the double doors and skidded to a halt panting in front of Ernie's desk.  
  
"Not bad - 9.5 seconds. You're getting better - not good, but better. Anyway, get your stuff - you're going down to interview Mathilda the Magnificent. And don't forget to tape the cat singing!"  
  
"If it can. Which I doubt," he muttered to Ginny, over Tom's elated exclamations.  
  
"Good worker, just a total idiot," he continued. "And smarten yourself up!" He yelled at Tom's departing back. He looked at the forlorn girl and shook his head.  
  
"Time you got yourself a new man; this one's proving too expensive. Come on."  
  
He levered himself out of his chair and looked back at her.  
  
"Let's go get a coffee. I could do with a break."  
  
Ernie was well known in the local café, "The Rowan Wand". As soon as he put a foot over the threshold, a volley of cheerful shouts greeted him, and the proprietor had his order ready before he had reached the counter; one large pot of coffee together with a plate of assorted doughnuts. Glancing at Ginny, the man pushed another mug on to the tray, but otherwise passed no comment. Ernie slapped some money down on the counter and proceeded to heave the groaning tray over to the window table, gesturing for Ginny to follow. She glanced around the clientele, smiling absently at a waving wizard in a purple cloak whose cat was sitting on a chair drinking coffee through a straw. Two other wizards were having a heated argument over the correct way to perform the furnunculus curse, a small, grey-haired witch was reading an article in "The Successful Charm" while her quill automatically made notes on a roll of parchment, and a couple on the table next to them were trying to play chess, seriously hampered by the fact that one set of chessmen was refusing to play until the other set's queen had apologized to their knight.  
  
"Imbeciles!" muttered Ernie, disdainfully. "How in Merlin's name do they expect to control their chessmen when neither of them could play his way out of a piece of parchment!"  
  
Over the good hot coffee and a cinnamon doughnut, Ginny proceeded to tell Ernie the substance of her quarrel with David. It didn't take too long - Ernie had heard most of it before - and pretty soon she was staring moodily into her cup and contemplating another doughnut.  
  
"And he still thinks you work for a local Muggle radio station?" Ernie asked her. She nodded.  
  
"So how come he's never rumbled you then?" Ginny cupped her chin in her hands.  
  
"Because he's not interested, that's why," she replied with a sigh. "He hates anything even slightly parochial. He might take a bit more notice if I worked for the BBC, but even if I did, he'd still be pestering me to give it up and become a full-time entertainer."  
  
Ernie put a massive hand over her tiny one.  
  
"There'll always be a job for you here, whatever happens," he said gently. "You know that, don't you?" Ginny smiled crookedly and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ernie sighed and released her hand to take another doughnut.  
  
"Sounds like that idiot man of yours has a serious case of inferiority, if you ask me," he announced, with no ceremony. "Jealousy of an absentee school friend, who hasn't set foot in the country in years? Excuse me while I send out for a straightjacket!"  
  
"I had a crush on Harry at school," Ginny reminded him, tonelessly. Ernie grinned.  
  
"I knew it, we all knew it," he said through a mouthful of chocolate topping. "We all thought he was nuts: why bother with that Cho Chang when you were around? Any of us would have sat through a week of Snape's detentions just for the chance with you. Ah, well - happy days. Shame about Cho though - just graduated, hadn't she? Could happen to anyone, but you simply don't think of wizarding folk being killed in car smashes, do you?" Ginny shook her head slowly.  
  
"It took everything we had - Ron, Hermione and me - just to get Harry to carry on living, never mind take his NEWTs," she said in low tones. "He couldn't even remember his family, you see, he was too young when you-know- who . when they were killed. So when Cho was taken away from him, it really was like the end of the world." Ernie was nodding.  
  
"Yeah, I'm familiar with the story - everyone is."  
  
He washed down the last crumbs of doughnut with the dregs of his coffee and fixed her with a beady-eyed stare.  
  
"Well, this isn't getting any work done," he said. Do you feel up to a stint in the studio? We've got a backlog of programmes that'd make your hair curl, and Tom was supposed to be making inroads into it today." Resolutely, Ginny got to her feet.  
  
"I'm not taking time out over a shower of pathetic insults, if that's what you mean," she returned firmly. "Whatever David thinks of it, I like my job and I want to keep it!"  
  
"Okay. Let's get moving."  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Ron Weasley strolled up the path to the front door of Harry's House and drawled "Galileo" to the lion-shaped doorknocker. To his surprise, the beast roared loudly in his face making him take a startled step backwards, before the door swung silently open on magically oiled hinges. He took a step into the vestibule.  
  
"Okay," he announced, stalking through into the hall, "who's the wiseass then?"  
  
There was no immediate answer, but a murmur of conversation drew him towards Hermione's study where the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open to find Lee and Hermione, surrounded by mounds of paper, computer printouts, handwritten notes, open books and press cuttings, sprawled on their stomachs on the floor, heads together, deep in analysis of some problem or other.  
  
The youngest of the Weasley boys was still tall with a shock of red-gold hair and a dusting of freckles over his nose, which would spread rapidly all over his body as soon as the sun showed itself. Otherwise his resemblance to the skinny kid who attended Hogwarts for seven years was fairly minimal. Ron had broadened out. Wide shoulders and muscular arms hinted at impressive strength in his upper body, and he had the slim but sturdy legs often seen in a distance runner. He was also handsome. There was no other way to describe his smooth, aquiline features, striking hair and regular, even smile, but Ron himself was refreshingly unaware of any of it; all he knew was that he could never get a suntan in summer. He had followed his father and elder brother Percy into the Ministry of Magic, working for the subsidiary Office of Accidental Magic Reversal.  
  
"Don't mind me, will you?" he growled mock-seriously, at the tangle of Lee and Hermione on the study floor. "I just came from a totally empty flat wondering if there was anyone left alive in St. John's Wood. What in Merlin's name are you doing?"  
  
Hermione rolled over and sat up, smiling at him.  
  
"Hello, Ron," she said, getting up to kiss him briefly on the cheek. "Are you looking for food, drink, company or a mixture of all three?"  
  
"How well you know me!" he replied, grinning. "And all three would be absolutely marvelous, but I think, by the looks of things, I'm only likely to get one." Hermione crossed to the drinks cabinet.  
  
"Well, I can certainly provide you with a drink," she said, "and I for one have had enough analysis for tonight, but it looks as though Lee is good for another couple of hours."  
  
They turned towards the lanky, dark-skinned, former Hogwarts Quidditch commentator who was still lying on the floor. Lee had also joined the Ministry on graduation, but after a couple of years floating around not really finding his niche, he had discovered Muggle computers and had managed to convince his superiors that they were an area worthy of further research. Since then, he had transferred to the Department of Developmental Magic and was happily tapping into keyboards all day long. However, all the sudden high-level interest in his machines meant that he was now seriously overworked. The project he had online with Hermione at the moment was being pursued in what little spare time he had left.  
  
"Bugger!" he exploded, scrabbling through a pile of notes, scattering then to the four corners of the room. Hermione rolled her eyes, handed Ron a full glass and jerked her head in the direction of the door. They left so quietly that Lee didn't even notice.  
  
Hermione led the way down the long hall towards the big communal kitchen with its huge range and scrubbed oak refectory table. Ron looked around admiringly at the clean surfaces and tidy utensils and pans.  
  
"Someone's been busy," he remarked. Hermione looked affronted.  
  
"Are you implying that my kitchen is usually messy?"  
  
"Well, you have to admit that it's not often this pristine."  
  
"I know," she sighed. "I try to keep it clean and tidy because that's the way I was brought up, but when I'm literally working all the hours there are, I don't seem to have the time or the energy to put together the necessary household spells." Ron nodded wisely.  
  
"You really need a couple of housemates. Oh, I know Fred lives here, but he's just as bad as George: you can go for weeks without seeing him and you only know he's been at home by the mound of washing he chucks into the utility room. I've only seen George to speak to once or twice in the last month. I expect it's the same with Fred." Hermione nodded, but didn't quite meet Ron's eyes.  
  
"So who do you suggest I draft into Harry's House then?" Ron shrugged expansively.  
  
"Most people'd give their eye teeth to live in a place like this."  
  
"Okay then: what about you?" Hermione's expression was challenging: Ron laughed.  
  
"Is this a proposition? Or even a proposal?" She gave a wry smile.  
  
"I don't have time for either at the moment, more's the pity. No, I wasn't serious, Ron, although you know only too well I'd love it if you guys were to move in here." But Ron was shaking his head.  
  
"With Fred as well, and Charlie, when he's home? No - the mix'd be too rich. Besides, it's not good for a girl to be stuck on her own with so many blokes: people will start to talk!" They laughed.  
  
"No," repeated Ron, pulling out a chair and relaxing into it, "I think you need a couple of girls."  
  
"Trouble is, I don't make girlfriends that easily," mused Hermione, aiming her wand at a kettle of water, which instantly spouted steam, and remotely upending a pasta packet into a large saucepan. "I can't imagine who I'd ask to share a house with me - unless it was your sister, of course, but she's out of the question."  
  
"I wish she bloody-well wasn't," retorted Ron, crossly. "That Muggle git's making her life a misery!"  
  
"Watch the tone of the insults, sunshine," she retorted, as an onion leaped out of the vegetable basket on to a thick wooden chopping board. "Just remember my Muggle origins and be careful." But Ron was too annoyed to take any notice.  
  
"Ginny was the most natural sorceress in her year," he began. "Dumbledore called Mum and Dad in to warn them that she was proving to be very precocious, and that they were going to have to help her control her powers. Hey, watch it!" He ducked as a sharp knife sailed over his head and quickly diced the onion.  
  
"Sorry," said Hermione, as she dumped the chopped onion into a frying pan sizzling with butter, "Go on, Ron."  
  
Ron carefully smoothed his thick red/gold hair back over his head as if checking it was all still there.  
  
"Well, when she graduated Hogwarts with the highest practical NEWTs anyone had seen for years (even better than yours, Hermione - although apparently her written papers left something to be desired!), everyone expected she'd romp into some high paid, high status job at the Ministry - Department of Developmental Magic, for example - any one of a number of glittering careers! The next thing we know she's shacked up with this Muggle who's convinced her she can sing, and that's the end of her magic. It's been three years now - surely it's about time she gave him the push?"  
  
Hermione nodded at a spatula, which obediently stirred garlic and tomatoes into the chopped onion, then she delved in the fridge for some Parmesan cheese.  
  
"Could you just grate some of that into a bowl, please?" she asked, handing him a hard yellow lump and a wicked-looking grater. Ron sighed and started to rub the cheese against the mesh, careful not to bring his fingers in contact with the sharp surface. He gave her a black look.  
  
"You know I can't manage a grating charm," he grumbled.  
  
"All the more incentive to learn," Hermione replied with a small smile as she shook the pan then turned the heat up under the pasta.  
  
"Well, Ron," she began, carefully, "you are strictly not to talk about this, okay? It sounds to me as though the relationship is about to die a natural death anyway. Ginny is just clinging on to any shreds of hope she can muster. Let's face it; she's been lying to him about her abilities for three years now. There's no way he's ever going to accept that kind of deceit, so she can't exactly come clean at this stage, and she's been suppressing her magical powers for so long now that something's got to give eventually. She's between the devil and the deep blue sea, and the only way out is forward."  
  
She shook some sugar and salt into the pan and began to grind pepper, checking that the pasta was soft. Ron went over to the kitchen wine rack and inspected its contents diffidently.  
  
"Red okay?" he queried. She nodded, deftly removing two warmed plates from the cooler of the two ovens. There was a short pause while she served the meal, during which Ron found some glasses and poured the wine. A slightly longer pause ensued while Ron attacked the meal with a gusto implying that he hadn't been fed for several days. Hermione smiled at his enthusiasm, and ate hers at a rather more leisurely pace. Once Ron's plate was clear, he gave a deep sigh and sat back in his chair, savouring his glass of wine.  
  
"That was so good," he sighed. "You know, if me and the guys did move in with you, you'd be forever in the kitchen!"  
  
"Don't you believe it!" Hermione shot back, her eyes flashing. "I'm still capable of organizing a rota you know, and enforcing it - even with such unpromising material as you lot!"  
  
Ron turned down the corners of his mouth in mock-injury, but could not sustain it in the face of such congenial surroundings and company. Eventually, he conjured the dishes and pans into the dishwasher, and they retired to the old blanket-covered sofa at the other end of the room. Hermione quickly enchanted a fire, and they relaxed, finishing off the wine.  
  
"End of a long day," remarked Ron, glancing reluctantly at his watch and yawning. "Time for me to get some shut-eye, 'Mione." He got up slowly, resting his empty glass on the coffee table.  
  
"Yeah, you're right. I've got a couple of important meetings tomorrow." She stood up and stretched langorously, the firelight casting shadows across her translucent skin. Ron looked at her.  
  
"Thanks, love," he said, smiling as he kissed her gently on the cheek. He stared into her eyes and saw, if not an invitation at least not rejection, so he kissed her mouth a little more lingeringly. He was about to go for broke when she stopped him, placing her index finger on his lips in a surprisingly intimate gesture.  
  
"Are you really prepared to re-open old wounds, Ron?" she asked seriously, but a gentle smile played over her features. He looked away and shuffled his feet awkwardly.  
  
"I might have been, until you ruined the moment!" he muttered, crossly. Her laughter was gentle and unforced.  
  
"Oh, Ron, where angels fear to tread, you have always managed to sprint in at record-breaking speed!"  
  
"Are you telling me I'm a fool then?"  
  
"Absolutely not! You're one of my three very best friends ever and, as you know, I don't suffer fools in any way, never mind gladly! All I'm saying is, just once, think about what you're doing before you do it."  
  
"How do you know I haven't already?" Ron's face seemed to be slightly flushed, although it could have been the effect of the firelight. Hermione softened. She held out her arms and pulled him into them, patting his back gently as one would a child.  
  
"I'm sorry." Her words were muffled in the shoulder of his sweater. Ron buried his face in her hair, inhaling her sweet familiar fragrance then he lifted his head to look at her, put a hand out to her cheek and kissed her lips again.  
  
"I'd better go," he murmured into her hair, "before I do something really stupid. Besides, Lee's still in your study - I'd better take him home before he falls asleep on the job!" Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth.  
  
"Oh damn and blast! I forgot all about Lee - and we've gone and eaten all the pasta!"  
  
Ron laughed.  
  
"Don't worry - he won't have noticed. I'll take him home and open a can of soup or something. Oh, by the way: both Lee and I are away this weekend - not together I might add - although George is suppose to be home tonight. I'll give you a ring tomorrow or something, but I won't be back until Monday night."  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
"That's okay: I've got loads to do, and Colin Creevey's coming round on Saturday."  
  
Ron's expression was a picture.  
  
"Creevey? Creevey? You mean the jerk with the camera, year below us?" She nodded playfully.  
  
"What's he doing round here?"  
  
"Dare I say it, moving in?" There was a flabbergasted silence.  
  
"Please tell me you're joking," Ron eventually managed. Hermione burst out laughing.  
  
"It's not as bad as it sounds," she said, and proceeded to tell him about the outhouse buried in the depths of the jungle beyond the windows.  
  
"Better take a machete," said Ron dubiously, glancing out of the back window. "You never know what you might meet in there - lions, dragons, maybe even the lost tribe of the Incas."  
  
"Don't worry: Fred is going to be here, and Ginny's coming too, so I think we'll cope."  
  
"Well, I for one am glad to be missing this little charade," Ron announced, making briskly for Hermione's study. "Don't forget to tell me how it goes, will you? If you ever get out, that is. I tell you what: if you run into any trouble, send up red sparks and I'll issue a search party. Come on Lee!"  
  
Throwing the study door open with as much noise as possible, Ron marched in to retrieve his housemate.  
  
"Last orders!" he announced. "Time, gentlemen, please! Chucking out now! Come on, man, let's get home!" But Lee was fast asleep on his piles of papers and snoring loudly.  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	2. Chapter Two Mysteries and Discoveries

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
Chapter Two - Mysteries and Discoveries  
  
"I think we should be a bit further to the left now. Ouch!"  
  
"Sorry. We seem to have a bit of a problem here."  
  
"Don't just whip branches back in my face, Fred, it hurts! And besides I'm not really in a position to retaliate."  
  
"Conjure yourself some protective gear then - dragonhide ought to do it."  
  
"Great Merlin, this is some garden - more like a jungle!"  
  
"Excuse me" plaintively. "You don't have large predators as well as man- eating plants living here, do you?"  
  
Colin Creevey was beginning to regret having taken up Hermione's offer to look at the old outhouse. Certainly he realised that none of the residents, current or historical, had bothered much with the garden for years uncounted, but it had never occurred to him that his first glimpse of the building which might eventually become his studio would be their first sight too. He had envisaged a reasonably large piece of land, gracefully unkempt but still recognisable as a garden, with an overgrown but still passable pathway to a partially hidden but attractively dilapidated building whose full exotic promise would not become apparent until they had probed the mysteries within. Right now he was wondering when Sir David Attenborough was going to turn up. This garden was absolutely huge. Massive for most semi-rural areas, almost impossible for St. John's Wood. Colin had too much to think about to give it serious consideration at the moment, but he had fleetingly wondered whether there was some kind of enchantment on it; some variant of the Everyday charm they often used to escape Muggle attention. That was when he got his first sight of the old temple.  
  
His first thought was that he had strayed into another continent. India, perhaps, or Africa - he wasn't sure, but definitely not Europe.  
  
"Flamel's Stone!" he breathed, in reverence or horror, uncertain as to which. "What in Merlin's name is that?"  
  
The others seemed to share his amazement and, after a long moment broke out into furious questions.  
  
"Do you mean to say that this has been here all the time, and we had no idea whatsoever until now?"  
  
"Who built this thing anyway, and what for? It's nothing like the same style as the house."  
  
"Hermione, did the estate agent's details list outhouses as part of the deal, or are we in someone else's garden?" Hermione smiled at Lee, who had spoken last.  
  
"Well, although I am the leaseholder and I did look over it with Harry before he decided to buy it, I am still as much in the dark as the rest of you," she began. "However, firstly I can assure you that whilst this particular structure was definitely not listed in the particulars nor described at all in any way, there are no outstanding leaseholds, no easements, no rights of way, no other tenancy agreements. There is nothing likely to cause any difficulty whatsoever with the ownership of this - thing. I ought to know; I checked the Conveyancing very thoroughly."  
  
"Also," interrupted Fred, holding up a hand against further questions, "also Harry and I made absolutely sure of the boundaries before he signed on the dotted line - we walked around the property to make sure the fences were intact. That was some experience, I can tell you - we had to use a scythe!" Hermione gave him an old-fashioned look.  
  
"And I expect you used the access to set up wards for my safety, knowing that I was likely to be here on my own for some of the time?" The question was gentle, full of affection. Fred spread his hands and looked slightly uncomfortable.  
  
"It was Harry's idea," he told her. "He never intended you to be here alone, Hermione. If things had worked the way he'd planned - but never mind. The wards are still in place - I've made quite sure of that!" She smiled warmly and put a rather grubby hand on his arm.  
  
"Thanks, Fred." He gave her hand a quick squeeze.  
  
"I don't want to seem like I'm breaking anything up here," a small voice protested, "but I for one would rather like to get out of this patch of thistles: I'm feeling like a pincushion!"  
  
In response to Colin's plaintive request, they obediently resumed their progress towards the building, although it was quite some minutes before they could reach what had obviously once been the entrance. There they stood, uncertain as to the next move, for in front of the doorway, blocking it totally, was a tree. It was so thoroughly established that they could have been forgiven for suspecting it to have been planted there intentionally. But who would do something as ridiculous as that, and why? It was tall (about 20 feet high), strong and healthy: not an easy prospect. Fred and Hermione approached it gingerly, and Fred sighed in resignation.  
  
"We'll have to abandon it for the day, folks. There's no way we're going to get past this, unless we shrink ourselves to 50%, and we haven't a hope of getting through it without an axe. I suggest we try again tomorrow with the proper tools."  
  
"No, wait." Ginny stared at the tree thoughtfully. "It's such a beautiful tree - a silver birch, you know. They take a long, long time to grow, and I'd hate for it to be destroyed simply because we couldn't think of any other way to get past it. Look, do you mind if I just ..."  
  
She trailed off, gesturing helplessly in Hermione's direction. The other girl frowned in puzzlement then her face cleared. Slowly, she reached into her sleeve and removed her wand from its pocket, offering it hesitantly to her friend. Ginny's fingers closed around the slim wooden rod and she took a deep, spontaneous breath like a swimmer breaking the surface of the water.  
  
Closing her eyes, she concentrated, murmuring a number of incantations while the others watched her curiously. For a while nothing seemed to happen, then as she drew in a sharp breath and gritted her teeth, the tree began to move. It shuddered from top to bottom and the roots seemed to take on a life of their own, churning the earth and freeing themselves from its grasp. The tree rose slowly and majestically above the ground to hover, weightless in mid-air.  
  
"Quick, Fred!" gasped Ginny. "I can't hold it for long. Help me! Everyone else dig a pit to plant it in."  
  
Fred whipped out his wand shouting "Wingardium leviosa!"  
  
Instantly, Ginny felt the tree stabilise and took a moment to regroup her powers. Between them the siblings held the tree suspended until Colin and Hermione had excavated a deep enough trench to re-plant it, then Fred and Ginny moved it until it was poised over the channel.  
  
"Over to you." said Fred, breathing heavily, as she began the delicate work of insinuating the roots back into the soil, finding the moist areas, guiding the long tap root down towards the water table. Finally, as the job was completed and she sagged wearily against her brother, Ginny became aware of a number of curious eyes.  
  
"And just where," began Hermione, "did you learn that particular little party trick, Miss Weasley?" Ginny looked up at her and grinned.  
  
"You sound just like Minerva McGonagall," she commented, and was rewarded with a blush from Hermione.  
  
"Seriously, though," this was Fred, "dealing with living things is quite extraordinary in comparison with inanimate ones. That was an incredible feat of manipulation - I really don't know quite how you managed it, particularly as you're so out of practice."  
  
It was the wrong thing to say. Ginny flushed an angry red, clashing painfully with her hair.  
  
"I think we can start exploring the temple now," she said quietly. "Why don't you lead the way, Fred?"  
  
It proved very easy to enter the building now that the tree had gone. Glancing at Fred and Ginny, who were both somewhat drained by their efforts, Hermione produced her own wand, muttered "Lumos," and led the way inside.  
  
"Great stars above, Hermione, can't you get it any brighter than that?" protested Colin tetchily, not so much out of annoyance but because he was feeling vague stirrings of uneasiness. Whatever this building was, he had more or less made up his mind that it was totally unsuitable as a potential studio. Quite apart from its peculiar design, lack of natural light and complete absence of basic facilities, his magical antennae were picking up some very strange sensations indeed. Hermione seemed to be similarly affected. She moved to one side of the doorway, but made no further attempt to get into the building, merely standing silently, her expression oddly concentrated.  
  
"Come on, let's see what's in here. Hurry up, Hermione!" Fred strode forward, whipping out his wand and shouting loudly for illumination. Bright, white light seared forth, throwing the four corners of the building into sharp relief, revealing everything in one sudden flash of brilliance. They stood stunned, then gasped in amazement bordering on stupefaction.  
  
The first most remarkable thing was that the building was larger than it had appeared from the outside by an approximate factor of six. That it was indeed some sort of temple was very obvious by the intricate marble flooring, the astonishing pictures on the walls, and the large, ornate altar made of wood and stone at the far end which was, at present, empty. Everything was covered in the dust of decades. Colin thought back to the size of the garden and wondered if this enchantment of scale was the only spellcraft he could sense here or whether, as he suspected, there was a good deal more. He decided to voice the question.  
  
"Hermione," he whispered as quietly as possible, but the very air seemed to pick up and amplify the sound, "this place - it absolutely reeks of magic. Really strong stuff, and I'm not sure how clean it is, if you know what I mean."  
  
Hermione could only nod. She seemed too shocked to move, but Fred took a determined step forward. Colin noticed that his face was white and strained.  
  
"That altar," he muttered. "It - it reminds me of something ." Trailing off, he walked slowly towards it.  
  
"Great Merlin!" whispered Ginny, who had moved to stand alongside Hermione. "It's like some ancient Hindu temple, a really rich one. But what on earth's it doing here, and what was it used for?"  
  
Hermione shivered and seemed to emerge from her trance. She glanced towards Fred then gasped in horror as she saw him approach the altar.  
  
"Fred, no!" Her voice slammed sharply against the walls, and she ran towards him grabbing his arm to try to drag him back.  
  
"I must see that altar!" he grated between clenched teeth.  
  
"No, don't go near it!" she pleaded. "You don't know what it is." His face was set in a stubborn expression.  
  
"Don't I?" he glared. "The difference here, my dear Hermione, is that I have a very good idea what it might mean - you only think you do." Her eyes widened in horror.  
  
"You think it might have something to do with .?" He ignored her.  
  
"Just let me go, there's a good girl. I'll try not to touch anything, but frankly this is the first real lead I've had since it happened, and if you think I'm just going to walk away, you're crazy. I owe him that much, at least."  
  
Hermione stood watching helplessly while Fred approached the stone table, wand held defensively before him. To her relief, he appeared to cast no spells nor to be using magic of any kind. He merely examined the sculpted legs and front closely, trying to read the inscriptions. Somehow dissatisfied, Fred straightened up abruptly and moved behind the altar, bending down again to look at something near the floor. She heard him cry out sharply then he looked up over the top of the table.  
  
"Hermione," he began, slowly and clearly, his voice betraying fear and suppressed excitement, "you must do exactly as I say, or we may not get out of here for a long while. Go back to the doorway and stand under the lintel - you know, the big stone beam that supports the wall. Take Ginny and Colin with you and, this is important, make sure you are touching each other - holding hands would be best - then wait for me to come to you. Okay?"  
  
"Fred, I don't under."  
  
"Hermione, don't ask questions - please, just do it, okay?"  
  
The tone of Fred's voice was such that Hermione obeyed without another murmur. So grave and serious was her expression that Ginny and Colin both complied with her instructions unquestioningly. As they waited in the eerie brilliance of the temple, there came a sudden loud crack, a flash of blue lightening, and Fred came hurtling towards them. He held something small in his left hand and was running like the wind.  
  
"Stay where you are!" he bellowed, as the ground began to shake and pieces of plaster and masonry bounced off the floor behind him. A gilt picture frame glanced off his arm, but he paid it no heed. Instinctively, Ginny whirled towards the doorway, but to her horror it was totally blocked by something strongly resembling the smooth, silver bark of a tree trunk. As she turned her frightened eyes back to Fred, he cannoned into them, enveloping all three in a tight, hard bear hug and held aloft what looked like a credit card. White mist rose rapidly from it, curling around them, blocking out the sight and sound of the temple, and suddenly .  
  
. they were somewhere else.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"Well, I guess we have to talk about it sometime, don't we?"  
  
Ginny stood facing Fred and Hermione perched on her sofa, drinking cups of hot restorative coffee. Their clothes were dirty and disheveled, even their hair and faces were dusty and grubby, although both had made some attempts to clean up. Ginny was aware that she looked equally bad. Although in her own home, she had refrained from changing clothes and had merely indulged in the most cursory ablutions, so as not to put the others at a disadvantage. Hermione glanced at Fred, but encountered no reaction. She shrugged and put down her coffee cup.  
  
"Ginny, I don't know what to say," she began. "I've never come across anything like that before, I have no idea what it was or what was powering it. All I know is that I was scared witless." Ginny gave her a searching look then turned to her companion.  
  
"Fred?" she said. He shrugged.  
  
"Like Hermione said," he began, "it's not something within my personal experience ."  
  
"Balderdash!" returned Ginny, frowning mightily. "You did something in that temple, Fred, don't try to deny it. And how did we get out of there anyway? You can't Apparate out and take three of us with you - we'd all get splinched. So how was it that we ended up in the Harrods Food Hall, halfway between the hand-made Swiss and Belgian chocolates and the Sushi bar?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and totally failed to control a slightly hysterical giggle.  
  
"Did you see that man's face?" she said to Fred. "You know, the one with the strawberry blonde perm who was eating teriyaki chicken?" Fred gave an outright laugh.  
  
"I think he thought Christmas had come early when Colin landed in his lap," he replied with an evil grin. Hermione grimaced.  
  
"I'm not sure Colin was of the same opinion," she said. Fred shook his head.  
  
"I think he was at the end of his tether by then. He's certainly not going to have very much to do with us in future, and I think it would take a tranquillising gun to make him set foot in Harry's House again, let alone the garden."  
  
"Will you two be serious!" Ginny was almost jumping up and down in fury. She rounded on her brother.  
  
"Fred, that was a Portkey you used - don't try to deny it! I may have been out of magic for a while, but I'm not totally stupid. Now, what's a jokeshop owner cum freelance spellbook publisher doing with Ministry equipment, eh?"  
  
Fred looked rather awkward, but he did not answer.  
  
"And Hermione," Ginny turned to her best friend. "Why were you so concerned when Fred went to look at that altar?" Hermione rallied with difficulty.  
  
"I thought the whole place was remarkably peculiar, and rather scary," she began. "My magical senses were on overload as soon as we got inside the door. When I focused in on the altar, I realised that much of the magic I was sensing - was dark." She swallowed back bile as the true horror of the memory seeped over her once more. "I was scared Fred was going to disturb it in some way, that's all." Ginny's full lips thinned and compressed in irritation.  
  
"Well, unlike Fred, at least you tried to explain yourself," she glared at Hermione, not at all mollified, "although most of that load of twaddle would provide enough organic matter to fertilize a rose bed for the next several years. What's going on here?"  
  
Ginny looked from Fred to Hermione in growing exasperation at their silence. With a wordless exclamation, she turned and stomped over to the patio doors, glaring out over the city in frustration.  
  
"Why won't you level with me?" she demanded. "You obviously know much more about this than you're letting on - I was there too, you know."  
  
"We know that!" Fred burst out, unexpectedly vehement, his eyes hard and bright. He propelled himself up from the sofa and grabbed Ginny's shoulders, turning her round to face him.  
  
"I can't be sure what we're dealing with here," he said in a gentler tone. "To be honest, I can't be sure of anything, and I'm just not prepared to commit myself to any kind of answer where you are concerned. Not yet, at any rate. Okay?" He exchanged glances with Hermione and Ginny saw her almost imperceptible nod. He looked back towards his sister.  
  
"In fact," he went on in a slightly calmer voice, "we've decided to bring in the SAS."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"We think we should tell Harry," Hermione translated. Ginny sat back down in astonishment.  
  
"Harry?" she queried, her jaw slack. "Harry! What in Merlin's name makes you think he'd have any interest in this? For goodness sake, he's made another life for himself a whole world away from us here. The last thing he's going to want is to be bothered with a peculiarity involving some arcane structure in the middle of his back garden; a back garden, I might add, which he hasn't set eyes on for four years! Can't we just - I don't know - exorcise it or something?"  
  
Hermione looked at Fred.  
  
"You know when all is said and done, that might not be the worst idea anyone's come up with." A grim smile twisted her strong features. "I wouldn't like to attempt it at the moment, but plain old Muggle superstition might just be what the doctor ordered in the end."  
  
"Hermione, you're tired, you need rest." Fred laid a hand on her arm in a patronising fashion and for once she did not rise to it, merely smiled and leaned against his shoulder. She looked directly at Ginny and sighed.  
  
"We'll leave you in peace shortly," she said, quietly. "We need to go home to clean up, just as soon as I've taken a quick fire talk."  
  
"Who with?"  
  
"Harry, who do you think? Sorry to borrow your fireplace, but I've left an urgent message - a real SOS. He should be appearing any minute - oh, yes: right on time!"  
  
The fireplace obligingly burst into orange flames, parting in the centre to reveal a man's head. Hermione gasped.  
  
"My owl! Harry, you've gone blonde!" The man in the fireplace irritably brushed his wayward hair out of his eyes and scowled.  
  
"Trust you to notice that, Hermione!" he replied. "It's not as if it's particularly dramatic. Only a couple of shades lighter on the surface."  
  
"Well, it was rather a surprise," said Hermione, apologetically. "And you're very suntanned."  
  
"What do you expect? It's par for the course when you live in California." The face grinned broadly. "What's the weather like with you? It's scorching here, and most people are covered up from their necks to their toes, terrified of skin cancer."  
  
"It's a typical English summer," replied Fred, matching the grin. "Warmish, wettish and cloudy." Harry grinned.  
  
"So, children," he began. "What's the crisis? I'm supposed to be lecturing a group of 2nd Year Advanced Students on the Unforgivable Curses with particular reference to my recent travels in China, but when I got your Mayday, I figured I'd better answer it immediately."  
  
Hermione leaned forward again.  
  
"We've got what might be a serious problem, Harry, and I really think you need to see it. In fact, it might need a little of your time to unravel it, so I suggest you take some leave and come home as soon as possible."  
  
It was out and she couldn't unsay it. Ginny held her breath while all his possible replies went through her head: I can't just abandon my students in mid-course; I'm supposed to be giving a lecture right now, call me back later with the rest of this nonsense; aren't you old enough by now to sort things out yourselves?; call in the Ministry: they'll know what to do. To her surprise, he said none of these things.  
  
"Can you elaborate on the problem any further?" he enquired calmly and quietly. Hermione opened her mouth then shut it again.  
  
"It's - difficult," she began. Fred pushed his sister into view.  
  
"Ginny's here, Harry," he began, apparently apropos of nothing. "She knows a little about this. We've used her fireplace for this call, but we'll have to be quick because her Muggle partner could return at any time."  
  
Ginny stared open-mouthed at Fred for this seemingly totally gratuitous and ridiculous outburst of unnecessary information, but Harry seemed to understand. She wondered if he and Fred had developed some kind of secret code, some means of communicating relevant information buried within a flurry of small talk. Harry's next words only seemed to confirm that surmise.  
  
"I see." He spoke quietly, stroking his upper lip with an index finger. He considered for a short while then he looked up again.  
  
"In that case, you can save the details for later," he said decisively. "I'll use my old room in the West Wing then, shall I Hermione? Or is someone else occupying it at the moment?"  
  
"No, it's empty," replied Hermione, unable to hide her overwhelming relief at his decision. "I'll put it to rights for you, don't worry." He inclined his head in thanks.  
  
"Well, I'll see you very shortly - probably tonight for dinner. I'll just have to do something about taking leave, that's all. See you later."  
  
The flames died down and the fireplace returned to normal. Hermione sighed with satisfaction and turned to Fred.  
  
"I guess I'd better summon the gang for a dinner party." She turned to Ginny. "You and David are invited, of course. We won't be discussing business until tomorrow, I suspect. After all," she shrugged tiredly, "it's not exactly urgent; I'm sure that temple's been there for at least a century - a few more days won't hurt."  
  
Famous last words, Granger. Hermione stamped firmly on her inner voice, but could not entirely banish its impact. Ginny made a wry face.  
  
"I can't make it, unfortunately," she sighed. "I've got a gig, and I really can't back out, not after - well, I've just got to do it, that's all."  
  
Hermione's face fell then suddenly her eyes lit up.  
  
"How about we come to your gig - all of us, Harry too - then we can all go back to Harry's House for dinner, or a take-away, or even out to a restaurant if we're feeling flush!" Ginny smiled with real pleasure.  
  
"That's really kind - I could do with the support at the moment. It's at the Café Royale in Balham - I'll leave you some tickets on the door if you like. I think I'd better call a rain check on dinner though - at least until I've okayed it with David."  
  
Fred pulled a face, fortunately behind Ginny's back, and Hermione shot a very old-fashioned look at him until he mended his manners.  
  
"Don't worry," she said soothingly. "You can decide tonight after the gig whether you want to come with us or not. Now," she shot a glance at Fred and started to look round for her handbag, laughing when she remembered how abruptly they had left home. "I think it's time we went home to clean up. I, for one, am hungry. It's well past lunch and I want a little time to make up Harry's room for him." Fred groaned and leaned back on the sofa.  
  
"You go ahead, Hermione," he said. "I don't want to walk like this: I'll Apparate back when I feel up to it."  
  
She gave him a sharp look which he returned innocently enough, but as she made her weary way home she wondered if she had done the right thing by leaving him there with Ginny: after all, David was due home at any time.  
  
After the front door had closed on Hermione, Ginny rounded on her brother, hands on her hips, brown eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
"Well, Fred?" she demanded. "Are you going to come clean about this, or am I going to drop-kick your butt from here to Putney Bridge without bouncing?"  
  
Fred stared at her in surprise then gave way to uproarious laughter. Ginny's anger abruptly drained away and she sank down into the squashy sofa.  
  
"You are completely hopeless," she muttered, in defeat. "I never could get a straight answer out of either you or George - Ron's become just as bad." She looked at him.  
  
"You can't blame me for worrying. I know you two are always plotting something, but recently I've just been a bit, well, concerned?"  
  
Fred looked up sharply.  
  
"Why?" he returned, rather too quickly. She shrugged.  
  
"Well, it's just that you don't seem entirely yourself, Fred. I can't put my finger on it, but you're not quite - well, right somehow." She shook her head. "Don't ask me to explain it any further." She looked at him.  
  
"Are you okay?" Fred uncrossed his legs and shifted to the edge of the sofa, not meeting her eyes.  
  
"You're preparing to lie to me, aren't you?" she said. He sighed.  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid I was," he replied sadly.  
  
"Then don't answer." Her face was serious. "Tell me when you can, but don't lie to me."  
  
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. She met his eyes.  
  
"Prawn and lettuce sandwiches do for lunch?" He grinned broadly.  
  
"You bet!"  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	3. Chapter Three The Return of the Native

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
  
Chapter Three - "The Return of the Native"  
  
Harry Potter had never had it easy. The letter from Hogwarts, which changed his life so completely, seemed to promise a measure of security and protection sadly lacking from his life until then. But spending one's formative years fighting uselessly against unfair odds is not a recipe for a peaceful existence. Within the walls of Hogwarts, Harry occasionally caught himself remembering his former anonymity with something like regret. For Harry had become something that was, to him, totally unexpected: a target.  
  
Harry got the message loud and clear as soon as he crossed the threshold of Hogwarts Castle. People stared at him, wide-eyed with wonder that someone like him could step straight out of a legend into their world. Many were too much in awe of him to do anything other than stare. Some feared him; others hated him.  
  
There were those who loathed him for his celebrity, his unearned and undeserved kudos. There were others who despised him for his sheer ordinariness, and still more who scorned him for not being everything they had expected of The Boy Who Lived. There was also a small number of people for whom Harry was a useful scapegoat for their own failures and disappointments. His hot temper and his stubborn refusal to compromise on any important issue cost him dearly in bruises, both physical and mental. And there was also Voldemort.  
  
By his sixth year, Harry had learned the meaning of discretion. His dealings with certain members of Slytherin House grew more circumspect. His increasing encounters with Voldemort became steadily more adept and streetsmart. Harry's ability to cope in a crisis, his talent for choosing and retaining friends and champions, and also his innate toughness of spirit, honed by years of adversity, all served him well during the apparent culmination of his very existence: the Great Battle between light and dark magic, fought on the premises of Hogwarts itself.  
  
It was enough - barely. Harry had triumphed, but not without terrible losses. Many, many witches and wizards at the peak of their abilities had perished including Albus Dumbledore, matchless wizard of unparalleled power and Harry's beloved mentor. Harry had mourned him with grief and bitterness, knowing his passing to be a tragedy the full degree of which would only be felt by future generations. When Harry elected to pursue his career at the Wizarding University in Los Angeles, nobody was surprised. The public understood his need for a new life and pitied his sorrow. His friends sympathized with his attempts to escape both his celebrity and his memories.  
  
Harry smiled wryly to himself as he strode swiftly towards the office occupied by the Dean of his college. People would believe what they wanted to believe. Often it was best to say nothing.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, after heated discussions involving Harry threatening to hand in his notice with an indifference he did not exactly feel, he was free. A month's sabbatical! All the better as it extended conveniently into the long summer vacation: time enough to assess whether Fred and Hermione's fears were groundless. However, he was almost certain that they were not.  
  
Half an hour later, Harry was disturbed in his packing by a magical alarm: one of his wards had been tripped. Presently, Neville Longbottom poked his head around Harry's bedroom door.  
  
"So the rumours are true then?" he said. Harry sighed.  
  
"I swear, the wizard grapevine around this place is the most efficient in the world." Neville shrugged and came into the room.  
  
"To coin a cliché," Neville began, "this is all very sudden. "I mean, I always knew you were never intending to make your life with us here, but what's triggered this sudden urge to go home?"  
  
"If you put it that way," Harry began, hands busy folding a shirt, "I would have to say it's Hermione, but I think it's really been brewing for some time. I suppose I'm just anxious about them." He started to cram socks into his shoes.  
  
"Things are happening, Neville," Harry continued. "Things that should have been dead and buried a long time ago. I caught the first stirrings of it when I went on that expedition to China in search of the Aurora Amulet, the first summer I was here - you remember? There was too much magic flying about, too many people unaccounted for, wizards and Muggles both. Too many pieces in the jigsaw." He shook his head.  
  
"But you achieved your object in China, didn't you?" Neville was puzzled. "You brought back the Amulet."  
  
"Yes, I did," Harry admitted, "but it wasn't enough. I was too wrapped up in my quest to be sidetracked by small things that seemed so insignificant at the time." He smiled ironically.  
  
"I was overflowing with focus and drive," he said wryly. "I had a reputation to justify, a name to make for myself. I had to find some kind of niche in a world that only ever really wanted me for the Great Battle." He shrugged.  
  
"Maybe I wasn't meant to survive it. Who knows?" Harry's light tone belied the pain beneath. "Maybe if I'd died instead of Albus ." Neville's sudden grip on Harry's arm was not gentle.  
  
"I think we've already been to that place several times over," Neville said in calm, measured tones. "Do we really have to visit it again?" He held on to his friend's arm until the other man sighed and inclined his head slowly.  
  
Harry continued to pack on autopilot, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.  
  
"Now Hermione has joined forces with Lee Jordan, and she's noticed a pattern emerging," Harry continued after a small pause to fold several pairs of light trousers. "I want to study their evidence and draw my own conclusions. I'm also very concerned about the Weasley twins. Whatever it is they've stumbled on, it's completely out of their league. I've never known Hermione so tense about anything before, except NEWTs, of course, and it's not like Fred to twitch so openly. Something is rotten in the State of Denmark, Neville, and I need to go home to sort it out."  
  
He resumed packing with renewed energy.  
  
"I figured as much," Neville replied, "so I wondered if I might help out, and what d'you know? This li'l ol' Portkey just happened to be hanging unattended around the office. Now, something like that wouldn't happen to be of use to you, would it?"  
  
Smiling, Neville dangled a crushed cola can from one finger. Harry jerked his head up.  
  
"A Portkey?" he exclaimed. "Can you tune it for London?"  
  
"Yes sir; sure can." Neville replied, mockingly. "Even tune it for St. John's Wood if you want."  
  
"Thanks, Neville." Harry was visibly grateful. "I really appreciate this. Apparating into the office is one thing, but all the way to London? Well, I always feel exhausted for days."  
  
Harry held his hand out for the Portkey, but found it dangling just out of his reach.  
  
"It has a price." Harry frowned, but Neville grinned broadly.  
  
"Nothing you can't afford," he said. "Just a farewell cup of strong, black, Colombian coffee. Oh, and a short advice session before you go."  
  
Harry looked puzzled.  
  
"Advice?" Neville nodded frantically.  
  
"Advice, Harry. Let's face it: Gringotts is a big, big enterprise and I was incredibly lucky to get this post in LA. My concern now is how I'm going to hold on to it without you around to keep me on the rails!"  
  
Chuckling, Harry stopped struggling with his bulging suitcase and pointed at it with his wand. Abruptly, the locks clicked and straps appeared, fastening tightly around the outside. Harry grimaced.  
  
"I hate doing that," he said, "I always end up with creased shirts. Coffee time?" Neville grinned.  
  
"I put on the coffee maker before I interrupted you," he replied.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Hermione was trying to make up for lost time. She felt guilty that her extra-curricular studies with Lee seemed to be taking precedence over everything else, and even more uncomfortable that she had spent a precious hour trying to make Harry's room more welcoming. Its general appearance had been Spartan, to say the least. During the last couple of weeks, her caseload had rocketed. Most were minor offences, but she was also working on three large trials likely to last well into the New Year. She shook her head; where was all the work coming from? Her chambers had never had it so good. They had barely been coping before this sudden influx of new stuff, but now it looked as though they would have to recruit at least two juniors and a well-seasoned Grade One to cope with the backlog alone.  
  
Slow down a minute, Hermione. She creased her brow in a heavy frown and stopped writing suddenly. Let's just back up a moment, shall we?  
  
Overwork was a very effective way of stopping people thinking clearly; Hogwarts had taught her that. Hermione's was not the only Chambers suffering from this abrupt deluge of cases. And where did most of the clever, intelligent witches and wizards with a bent for research and book learning end up? In the legal profession. Hermione wondered how many other lawyers were working as flat out as she, and whether this was the reason no one else seemed either to know or care about the trends in the wizarding world's crime patterns.  
  
Hermione sighed and reflexively took a mouthful of coffee from a nearby mug, nearly spitting it out when she realised it was stone cold. She was about to raise her wand to reheat it when she became aware that someone else was in the room.  
  
A tall figure stood in the bay, silhouetted against the light. One moment the window had been empty, the next he was there: a tall, lithe, rangy- looking man, slightly disorientated by his recent Porting, pausing to get his bearings. Hermione leaped up from her desk.  
  
"Harry!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him, flinging her arms round his neck and astounding him with the wild enthusiasm of her hello kiss.  
  
"Merlin's Wand, Hermione!" he grinned. "I'll have to go away more often if that's the kind of reception I get when I return!" But Hermione was too happy to see him to think of a suitable riposte.  
  
"Oh Harry, it's so wonderful to have you home again!" 7enthused, all thoughts of work completely erased from her mind. "Fred is home - come through and say hello to him."  
  
Harry raised a speculative eyebrow, but made no comment.  
  
"Let's get some decent coffee going." Hermione said, picking up her mug to frown at its contents. She led Harry out of her study, down the hall and into the large kitchen.  
  
"Harry! You made it!" Harry took one step into the kitchen and was enveloped in a huge bear hug by a grinning red-haired man. "This is the best thing to happen in a long time!" Harry looked him up and down.  
  
"Hello Fred," he said, his hesitation barely perceptible. There was a chuckle from the direction of the fireplace.  
  
"I thought twins were supposed to get less alike as they grew older," observed a well-loved voice, "but my brothers still seem to be able to fool a large number of people."  
  
Harry swung round in delight to see his dear friend and school chum Ron emerging from the sofa, grinning from ear to ear. Harry smiled warmly and held out a hand in greeting, but Ron was having none of it.  
  
"If Fred can hug you, so can I!" he told him, before crushing the other man's ribs in his fervour, while Harry pummelled Ron's back as though he were a punchbag. Hermione went to refresh the coffee pot, smiling at the boys' antics, while Fred protested total innocence in the face of Ron's allegations.  
  
"Ron, you know George and I have given up trying to fool anyone as to our identities," he Fred said in hurt tones. "Ever since I got my scar trying out for the Cannons, and left it to heal Muggle style, no one's been fooled as to who's who."  
  
Who's buying that, I wonder? Harry thought, politely accepting a cup of strong black coffee from Hermione while he watched Ron and Fred battle it out. As he stood inhaling the steam from the fragrant liquid, Hermione took the chance to observe his appearance properly.  
  
Really, she Hermione had to admit, for a kid who had been small, gangly and weedy in school, Harry had turned out not too bad as an adult. The blonde hair that had surprised her so much turned out to be nearer light brown, his deep Californian tan making it seem much lighter. His clothes sense seemed to have improved too, she noticed, although the spectacles had not changed.  
  
Time rolled effortlessly away as Hermione made pot after pot of coffee, latterly charming the caffeine out of it, and the friends talked and talked, catching up on news and re-living old stories. Eventually, Lee arrived bringing with him, to everyone's surprise, Oliver Wood who was home for a brief and infrequent weekend.  
  
Having made a name for himself as keeper for the Singapore Swifts, an international Quidditch team, a series of injuries eventually caused Oliver to hang up his robes and gloves in favour of management. Oddly, this change seemed to have doubled his working hours - and tripled his stress levels - but Oliver simply thrived on the excitement.  
  
As soon as she saw them, Hermione looked at her watch and let out a horrified squeak.  
  
"Oh no! I'm not even changed yet, and it starts at 7.30pm!" Hermione started to panic her way out of the kitchen. "It's these light evenings. They make you think you've got more time than you have!" Harry turned to Ron.  
  
"Is Hermione going somewhere tonight?" he queried, slightly disappointed that his old friend should have an appointment on the evening he arrived. Ron drained his coffee mug.  
  
"We all are, mate," he responded. "We're going to a concert."  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
The Café Royale was less grand than its name implied, being slightly shabby and in need of a good coat of paint, but once inside Harry could see why it was a popular venue. It was a substantial building with plenty of seating, a good modern stage and, most importantly, a large and well-appointed bar, favourably situated with an excellent view of the entertainment. It was crowded and very noisy.  
  
Ron immediately disappeared into the crush and fought his way back some minutes later with a tray of drinks. Meanwhile, Hermione deftly secured a table near the front and went in search of extra chairs. Harry sat down, gazing around him. He saw no one he knew, although he didn't exactly expect to, but he had to admit to being slightly disconcerted at being the only wizarding folk present. Still, he mused, magical folk weren't always easy to spot. Nowadays, few younger wizards wore traditional robes all the time. Most, like his own group, wore Muggle clothes day to day, reserving their robes for purely magical or formal occasions. He made idle conversation with Ron, debating the quality of their beer, which was warm but otherwise surprisingly good.  
  
"Real ale," Ron said briefly, holding it up to the light, "from somewhere in Somerset, I believe."  
  
"I thought that was cider country," remarked Harry. Ron shrugged.  
  
"Diversity is the name of the game. Oh, look - it's about to start." He turned towards the stage as the lights dimmed and the compère came on.  
  
The compère was a seasoned comedian with a humorous line of patter that amused the audience, even if they didn't really listen to it. Quickly tiring of this, Harry elected to fight his way to the bar for another round of drinks. It took quite some time: it seemed he wasn't the only one who was bored with the warm-up and wanted to get sufficient supplies to cover the first half. By the time he got back to the table and began to hand out glasses, the act was being introduced.  
  
Harry had never heard of the vocalist Virginia Dale, but when the band started up and a slender girl with startlingly red hair walked onstage, he found himself rooted to the spot in the process of handing Ron his pint.  
  
"Ginny?" Harry breathed, stunned beyond surprise. The beer hovered in mid- air, uncertain as to where it was going to land. Ginny picked up the microphone and began to sing an old jazz favourite. Laughing at his friend's reaction, Ron waved a hand in front of Harry's face and rescued his glass before it fell. Harry sat down heavily, spilling some of his own beer over the floor: Ron laughed some more.  
  
"Bet you never expected this, eh?" Ron grinned, swelling with pride at his great friend's reaction to his little sister's performance. Harry shook his head wonderingly, unable to take his eyes off her.  
  
"I had no idea she was so good!" Harry whispered, completely thrown.  
  
Ginny's act was a composite of various different styles. She was a very good singer indeed, but her real strength was in her versatility. The basis of the evening's music was on the traditional side of jazz - not surprising, considering the venue was more or less a jazz club - but these numbers were interspersed with ballads, folk songs, country and western, one or two rock and even a couple of opera arias which had the punters on their feet, cheering and stamping. Harry had not spoken a word throughout Ginny's act, and when she left the stage for a breather, he applauded with the rest of the audience and sank the rest of his warm beer in one.  
  
"I'm going outside for a breather," Harry bellowed at Ron over the hubbub. Ron nodded and continued his shouted conversation with Hermione. Harry pushed his way through the heaving mass of people, finally coming to the main doors spilling out on to the pavement. Here it was a little quieter, although several others had the same idea.  
  
Harry leaned against the cool stonework and wished, not for the first time, that he smoked. A cigarette might have helped untangle the knot of unfamiliar emotions roiling around in his stomach. No wonder Ginny had been snapped up so quickly by an agent, they must have been beating a path to her door! If her voice could do this to a wizard, think what effect it must have on the Muggle population. Preparing to go back in for the second half, Harry shook his head in wonderment. It had been a long time since he had been so deeply stirred by anything.  
  
The second half was much the same in content as the first, and Harry felt himself settling, calming down, getting used to the fact that this was the little girl he'd known at school. Near the end, she signalled for quiet and the noise died down to an acceptable buzz. She then took the microphone and started to sing, totally without accompaniment, an ancient Irish folksong which rose and fell modally, conjuring up hills and heather, peat fires and the smell of rain. Harry could feel her consciousness spiralling out to embrace the audience: forget your problems and your troubles, all is green and peaceful she seemed to be saying. Harry's mind swirled and, before he realised what he was doing, he had reached out and joined with her, reinforcing her thoughts, strengthening her outward message.  
  
In the reverent silence that followed the end of the song, he came to with a sudden jolt. Fortunately, the band had been primed to cut in quickly with the intro to the last barnstorming number, so his reaction went unnoticed. What did you think you were doing? he berated himself. This is Muggle territory, there's no way you can get away with blatant interference like that! It would be just his luck to be caught out by a roving Inspector and get served with a Misuse of Magic Warning back at the house this evening. His face flushed a dull red at the thought. Back in England for a couple of hours and already falling foul of the legal system. Who would have thought it, Harry Potter making such an elementary mistake?  
  
They went backstage to the Green Room afterwards to meet a radiant Ginny who was fully aware of how well her gig had gone. Harry noticed a tall dark man pouring drinks and guessed that this must be David Markland. Harry thought Markland looked rather too pleased with himself. As soon as she could, Ginny excused herself from a crowd of fans and well-wishers and flew over to Harry, standing on tiptoe to fling her arms round his neck with abandon.  
  
"Oh, we've missed you so much! How long are you staying? Thank you so much for coming this evening, it meant such a lot to me, and it all went so well just because you were there!"  
  
Harry smiled down at the beautiful girl in his arms.  
  
"Hello, Ginny," Harry said, happily. "I've missed you too. I think I might be staying for a while, so be prepared to see a lot more of me this time."  
  
Ginny grinned up at Harry happily, then a small frown creased her features and she lifted an experimental hand to the overlong fringe flopping untidily over his forehead.  
  
"It's really quite different now, isn't it?" Ginny commented with a half- smile. Harry sighed and self-consciously pushed the somewhat lightened locks away from his eyes.  
  
"You girls and your obsession with hair!" Harry replied, in mild exasperation. "I live in sunshine 364 days out of each year in LA, and I'm often abroad in tropical places where they don't have sunscreen shampoo. Sunbleaching's a natural phenomenon, you know." But he was too pleased to see Ginny to be cross.  
  
"Your gig was fantastic, I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it," Harry said enthusiastically. "You really have moved on such a lot in four years."  
  
"For three of them she's been under my professional care, so it isn't surprising that she's learned some sophistication," said a new voice. Reluctantly, Harry let his arms slide away from the girl, and turned to meet the intruder. Ginny remembered her manners.  
  
"Oh, Harry, this is David Markland, my agent and manager. David, this is Harry Potter. We were at school together." The man nodded unsmilingly.  
  
"So I hear," David replied, coolly. "Ginny has quite a number of old school friends in St. John's Wood. They seem to multiply by the day." Harry shook the carelessly outstretched hand, taking an adolescent pleasure in seeing Markland's eyes widen at the strength of his grip.  
  
"Ginny is very talented," the tall man went on in the same casual tone, "but far too easily pleased. Take tonight, for example. Ginny is over the moon at her performance, whereas I could only feel totally convinced by "My Lagan Love" - the Irish melody. Only that had the necessary spark of real star quality." Ginny seemed to wilt, but tried gamely to swallow her disappointment. Harry felt faint stirrings of anger.  
  
"You might do well to listen to her audience," Harry replied, his tone deceptively mild. Ginny gave him a grateful smile.  
  
"This place? Pfff!" Markland waved his hand negligently, consigning the Café Royale and all its contents to a nether world of total unimportance. "They're easily pleased here. Once she gets on to the really big stages, then she'll have to do better."  
  
"But David, we've been through this before; I really feel so much happier in a smaller environment," Ginny cut in anxiously. "I'm not at all sure I want to go as big as you'd like. At least, not yet." The last words were added hastily as Markland's eyes darkened in anger.  
  
"Ginny, you need to go butter up Samuel Stacey about that recording deal he's dickering on. He's only here for a little while, we can't waste time. Nice to have met you, er, Potter, wasn't it?"  
  
So saying, Markland put a proprietary hand under Ginny's elbow and bore her firmly away from Harry towards a smallish, balding man surrounded by a group of rather lovely young women. Harry gritted his teeth as, rather reluctantly, Ginny joined them and presently Harry saw her smiling winningly at the little man while he surreptitiously stroked her shoulder, Markland looking on approvingly all the time. Harry felt the stem of his champagne glass snap under the pressure of his fingers, and hurriedly disposed of the remains in the empty fireplace. He and the others left shortly afterwards.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Markland and Ginny did not join them for supper and, after a brief consultation, they decided to go back to Harry's House, picking up a take-away on the way. There was a brief tussle over whether it would be Chinese, Indian, Italian or Tex-Mex, but eventually Chinese prevailed, as the restaurant was nearer. Ron and Lee detoured to the local off-licence and by the time they arrived, the meal had been served on to the long refectory table in the kitchen and was ready to eat.  
  
It took very little time indeed for the food to disappear, even though Hermione exclaimed that they would never manage to eat it all. Coffee was offered and accepted by all and Harry wandered out of the kitchen, following Ron's lead down the corridor towards the sitting room in the West Wing.  
  
Harry could see why they used the West Room on golden evenings like this one. Even though it was very late, the last vestiges of sunset could still be seen through the French doors, colouring the horizon pink, the moonlight was bright and silvery, and the stars seemed very close to them in the inky blue sky. He sank down in a corner of a squashy sofa and gazed up at the heavens, enraptured.  
  
"It's stunning, isn't it?" said a low voice. He turned to see Fred about to take the adjacent seat. Harry nodded briefly then leaned fractionally closer as the other man sat down.  
  
"I believe you have a good deal of explaining to do, my old friend." Harry's voice was pitched low enough to carry only as far as his friend's ears. Fred sighed and smiled wryly.  
  
"I can't imagine how you could have come to that conclusion, Harry," Fred riposted, with somewhat unexpected sarcasm. Harry shrugged.  
  
"You and your brother seem to have become so comfortable with intrigue that you fail to recognise genuine cause for alarm," Harry said, still quietly. "Something seems to have gone disastrously wrong from your end. Untangling it will require considerable ingenuity. What if all these things are connected? Hermione and Lee's research, my own long-standing suspicions, the Ministry's worries about crime, your own situation with your brother, and also what might or might not be at the bottom of my garden?" He looked at Fred questioningly. The other man frowned.  
  
"Much as I respect your judgment, Harry," Fred began carefully, "I find it very difficult to imagine that a local peculiarity such as this temple could have any kind of connection with ."  
  
"Oh for goodness sake stop playing games!" Harry's voice rose in frustration. He saw Hermione flick a worried glance towards the sofa, then go back to her conversation with Ron. With a visible effort, he lowered his voice once again.  
  
"I strongly recommend that you come clean," Harry said flatly. "If you value your brother's continued health and happiness, you must tell the truth. We're not just your friends, we're your family, and I strongly suspect that we're all involved in this thing, to a greater or lesser extent. We need each other, and we need to know the bottom line."  
  
Fred nodded slowly.  
  
"I guess," he began. "Well, maybe. I mean .it might be worth considering."  
  
"It's the only way." Harry's voice was implacable. Fred opened his mouth once or twice then he leaned forward with a serious expression on his face.  
  
"If I have to spill my guts, there's one other person who really needs to be here," Fred began. "She's just as much family as Ron is, and it's not like she's in Rumania like Charlie, or South Africa like Bill. I don't want her to get the information second-hand; she'd feel somehow that the rest of you were more important than she is." Harry pursed his lips and frowned.  
  
"You're speaking of Ginny, of course." Harry replied. Fred nodded.  
  
"She and Markland elected to go Merlin-knows-where with that pack of posers back at the Café Royale." Harry sighed. "They might not even be home yet, even though it's gone 11.30pm, and if they are they'll be asleep." Fred's face assumed a stubborn expression.  
  
"Then I'm saying nothing until we can get her here. It just isn't right otherwise, Harry, you've got to realise that. We're her brothers and we've always been close. It's enough that we've been deceiving her all these years. She's already cut loose from the wizard world; do you want to drive her even further away?"  
  
"I take your point," Harry replied in a worried tone, "but what about the danger she might be exposed to?"  
  
"Let's face it, Harry," Fred shrugged resignedly, "it's got to the point where she'll be in danger whatever we do, just by being a Weasley."  
  
They said no more until Hermione, glancing rather anxiously at the two, finished refilling coffee cups and sat down next to Ron on the other sofa.  
  
Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, Harry moved to the edge of the sofa and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  
  
"Well, now would seem to be the time, wouldn't it?" Harry said, smiling affably. "I'd very much like to hear what horrors there are in my back garden that sent you all screaming for the hills. But that's really not all that needs to be said this evening." He paused to collect his thoughts.  
  
"Since I'm the newcomer here," Harry began, "the one who's been out of touch for a long time, I think it's best if you assume I know nothing, although I warn you, that might be slightly less than the truth. Now, if Hermione would oblige me, I would like to know what happened this morning."  
  
Hermione took a breath then expelled it without speaking on a soft "phew".  
  
"Was it really only this morning?" she said in wonderment. "It feels as though so much time as gone by."  
  
Hermione's account was concise and accurate, just as any of them would have expected from her. She gave no opinions, drew no conclusions and omitted nothing. Harry bit his lip, deep in thought.  
  
"So what was it about the altar, Fred?" asked Ron, getting to the nub of the situation. Fred opened his mouth, but Harry held up a hand.  
  
"I think before we go into any detail, this would be a good time to 'fess up, Fred." Harry said, gently. The redhead drooped in his chair slightly, shooting Harry a poisonous glance, then rallied with a determined expression on his face.  
  
"As I tried to explain to Harry earlier," Fred began firmly. "I really don't want to spill the beans without Ginny here. This affects her as much as it does anyone else here."  
  
"It's very late, Fred." Hermione remarked in surprise, glancing at her watch. "I expect she's asleep."  
  
"Then let's wake her up." Fred was adamant. Harry got to his feet, sighing.  
  
"Okay, I think you've made your point. Someone lend me a broom - I'll fly over to her flat, if you give me the address, and see if I can't sneak her out without sourpuss Markland noticing."  
  
"Not taken to him then?" Ron said in a light tone but with raised eyebrows. He rose from his chair to accompany his friend. Harry growled over his shoulder as they walked into the hallway.  
  
"He's a total pratt," Harry responded succinctly. "And he's got Ginny so messed up that she doesn't trust her own judgment any more."  
  
"Yep, that's about the size of it," Ron replied, nodding in agreement, "but try telling Ginny that - or rather, don't, if you want to keep your equipment where it currently lives!" Harry winced involuntarily.  
  
With a malicious grin, Ron handed Harry a Firebolt out of the hall closet. Harry glanced at it, smiling reminiscently as he opened the front door.  
  
"That's Ginny's broom," yelled Ron after him, casting a quick Everyday charm to protect him from Muggle eyes. Harry sped away into the night.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Ginny and Markland had indeed retired for the night, but in different rooms. Markland had given her a monumental dressing-down, firstly for being less than electric at the gig, and secondly for failing to go along with Samuel Stacey's extremely suggestive ideas of what might help fix the deal, and thereby losing them the contract. After shouting himself hoarse, Markland had retired to bed leaving Ginny watching late-night television and burying her troubles in a box of tissues. She had used the last one and was beginning to feel just about cried out, when she heard a soft tapping at the window. Easing the drapes to one side, Ginny clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a squeak as she beheld Harry standing on the balcony, holding her Firebolt in his hand. He beckoned. She unlocked the patio doors and stared.  
  
"Come on," Harry said. "We've having a council of war, and Fred won't come clean until you're there." Ginny turned huge, confused eyes on him.  
  
"What council of war - what are you talking about?"  
  
"The Temple this morning, silly, what do you think?"  
  
"But - what does Fred know about it?"  
  
"A lot, trust me. Come on, let's go."  
  
"But - but I'm scarcely dressed for it."  
  
This was true. A voluminous but sheer caftan, put on for ease and comfort when they arrived home, was all that covered her thin body. Harry waved aside her concerns.  
  
"Ron's put an Everyday charm on the broomstick - I'll just extend it to you. Oh, and if you're cold, hold on tight to me: I'll keep you warm!" Ginny actually blushed slightly, but did not give way.  
  
"But what about David? What's he going to think if he wakes up and finds I'm not here?"  
  
"What do you care?" Harry's indifferent remark and cold tone cut through her like a knife. "He's a grown man, Ginny: he can look after himself - very well, I suspect. Now, come on!"  
  
Suddenly, Harry swept her into his arms, jumped aboard the Firebolt, and had kicked off from the ground before Ginny could utter any kind of protest.  
  
Harry adored flying. From the very first time he held a broomstick, he seemed to know instinctively what to do with it. Harry's own Firebolt had been lost two years before somewhere in the Himalayas. He had yet to replace it, finding Porting and Apparating more suitable for his busy life, but he had never forgotten the sudden feeling of liberty, exhilaration and control over his own destiny. Now, soaring above London in the certain knowledge that Muggles could neither see nor hear him, Harry exulted in the freedom of the skies, looping the loop, turning upside down, testing the capabilities of the broom with sudden, spectacular dives and pulling out of them just at the last moment. He had almost forgotten the girl held tightly in his arms before him until he was circling high above St. John's Wood, zeroing in on Harry's House. As they landed gently in the front garden, Harry looked anxiously into her face.  
  
"I'm really sorry, Ginny," Harry began. "I just didn't think. It's been so long since I let off steam I'm afraid I rather overdid it."  
  
To Harry's utter astonishment, Ginny smiled a wide, life's-worth-living grin and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. He felt himself redden slightly.  
  
"Harry, you're not Superman - and I'm not Lois Lane either!" Ginny told him. "Unlike her, I'm used to flying dangerously - or have you forgotten I was the Gryffindor seeker the year after you left?" She stretched her arms high above her head.  
  
"Oh, but that was marvellous! I'd forgotten how much flying takes away all your everyday cares and hang-ups. You look down over all that land, all those people, all those separate little lives and you realise just how small and insignificant your own problems really are!"  
  
She started for the door, put her face up close to the lion-shaped doorknocker and yelled "Galileo!!" at the top of her voice. Instead of roaring in her face, it uttered a surprised little mew and opened the door in double quick time. Helpless with laughter, Harry and Ginny staggered into the hall.  
  
The revelations that awaited them in the West Room, however, were no laughing matter.  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	4. Chapter Four Things are Seldom What The...

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
  
Chapter Four - "Things are seldom what they seem"  
  
It looked as if the council of war would be going on for most of the night. At least it's Sunday tomorrow, thought Hermione, but that's not going to dice any ginger roots where Ron is concerned. The Ministry has been so overworked recently that he's sure to get at least one emergency call during off-duty hours.  
  
Ginny sat on the sofa warming her hands on her mug of coffee. At Fred's request, and to preserve general male peace of mind, she had cast an opacity charm on her caftan. Fred paced about the room, surprisingly ill at ease, until Harry called him to order. Even so, he seemed reluctant to settle, unnecessarily refilling his coffee mug, returning to the kitchen for biscuits, opening a small window then closing it again. Ginny watched her brother fidget in growing puzzlement. This was so unlike Fred's usual relaxed, laconic demeanour.  
  
"Look, would it be simpler if I were to begin?" Harry asked, his impatience getting the better of him. Fred looked at him but made no sign. Harry gave a soft sigh and patted the sofa seat next to him.  
  
"Sit down - George." Harry said quietly. The two men locked eyes then slowly Fred resumed his seat on the other side of Harry's sofa.  
  
After a moment of stunned silence, everyone started to speak at once.  
  
"Oh, pull the other one, Fred!" scoffed Ron. "We all know about that Quidditch scar of your. Bit of a dead giveaway that. Pity, I know, but you can't fool us on that one any more."  
  
"Excuse me," this was Lee Jordan. "But I'm not sure I heard you correctly, Harry. You're telling me this isn't Fred?"  
  
"But why?" Ginny looked totally bewildered and also rather hurt. "Why are you deceiving us like this?"  
  
"Fred" gave no sign that he had heard any of their questions. He merely brought out his wand and described an intricate little shape in mid-air accompanied by a whispered charm. At first nothing happened, then subtle changes started to creep over his face and body. His physique became slightly stockier, his cheeks rounded a little, his hair thickened and the long silver scar disappeared entirely.  
  
"It's a Glamour," he explained quietly. "Fred and I use them all the time. We've been impersonating each other for years now, no one rumbled us. However, we couldn't hide from Potter here - he helped us develop the charms, amongst other things," Harry grinned. "And I have to admit, over the last few weeks, I had to confide in Hermione. It was that or go mad, really." He shrugged helplessly.  
  
Ron turned furious eyes on his ex-girlfriend.  
  
"You never told me!" he protested. She shrugged, totally unmoved.  
  
"I was asked not to tell anyone," she said simply. "And there was a very good reason why."  
  
"Oh yeah? Name it!" Ron was very angry.  
  
"Well, actually, it's not for me to tell," Hermione replied worriedly, biting her lip.  
  
"Oh no?" sneered Ron. "Well, how very convenient!"  
  
"It's alright, Ron," George interrupted. "You can stop badgering Hermione. I'll tell you the reason why. Fred's, well, disappeared."  
  
The pause that followed was long and very uncomfortable. Harry slowly uncrossed his legs and cleared his throat, looking round at the group.  
  
"I think, George," Harry said gently, "that it will be easier for us all to understand what you are saying if you start at the beginning."  
  
Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes still fixed to the floor, George began to speak.  
  
What followed was almost a complete re-working of the lives of George and Fred Weasley. To their friends and family, the twins were a couple of overgrown schoolboys who took nothing seriously, except perhaps making money. On leaving Hogwarts, they had fulfilled their lifelong dream to own and run a joke shop. George did most of the donkeywork while Fred supplemented their joint income with a little freelance spellbook publishing. It seemed to work well enough. Happy-go-lucky and easygoing to a fault, the twins had never really grown up enough to move fully into adulthood. Or so it seemed.  
  
Now George reluctantly acknowledged that whilst Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been a modest success, the twins' real employment was, and always had been, with the Intelligence Department of the Ministry of Magic.  
  
"The Ministry made their first approaches to us before we left Hogwarts," George continued. "Our NEWTs results were no better than average, but they knew there was more to us than we were letting on. After all, exams aren't always the best way to measure ability."  
  
George said this without any trace of conceit or complacency, but Ron and Hermione exchanged chagrined glances as they remembered their own fraught final year.  
  
"The fact that we are twins and had a high profile for being airheads was just so much jam as far as our Department was concerned," George continued. "We both tried out for the Cannons during our final year. They liked that; fitness is a pre-requisite in our business. During training, we were given the basics of the Glamour technique, but you need a lot of skill to be really effective. The Ministry arranged for Harry to give us some help with that. We took a holiday to California, remember Ron? You wondered how on earth we could afford it. It took a lot of self-control not to tell you it was official." Ron nodded slowly. "Well, it was on that trip that Fred recruited Harry as an emergency contact."  
  
This was not normal practice for Ministry operatives, George explained, but Fred never liked putting all his eggs in one basket. He got twitchy, he said, if he didn't have at least a couple of aces up his sleeve. Like the spellbook publishing, for instance. It seemed that Fred's other job was quite genuine, but existed mainly as cover for his frequent trips abroad.  
  
"Fred was always the one with the real flair for intelligence," George went on. "I'm not bad, but Fred has always had the knack of melting into the background when he wanted. He could win the confidence of even the most nervous informant. Fred would be posted somewhere, quite often abroad, at short notice and I would be left to keep things going, so I simply - became him when necessary."  
  
Ron was scandalised.  
  
"Do you mean to say that you've been living in two places at the same time? That Hermione's been sharing her house with you, convinced that you were one person, when all the time you were someone else?" Hermione laughed.  
  
"Oh, Ron, don't be silly! These are your brothers we're talking about." She was very amused. "And besides, latterly I've been in on the secret. It was impossible for George to maintain both lives indefinitely, and eventually he had to trust me. Mind you, if I hadn't been burning the midnight oil, I'd have worked it out for myself ages ago!" Irreverently, she poked out her tongue at George who was making derisive signs to anyone who would look.  
  
"Can I ask something?" Ginny finally spoke up. She wasn't smiling. "How long have you been assuming Fred's identity?" George pursed his lips.  
  
"For about, uh, two months now, I reckon."  
  
"So Fred's been missing all this time? Have you notified the Ministry, whatever department it is you work in? Have you done anything to find him? Is he in any danger? How much do you know about what he's up to?" George looked into her worried eyes and sighed.  
  
"I knew you'd be upset," he began, sorrowfully. "I'll tell you as much as I can. It's not a great deal, I'm afraid. Fred always played a lone hand, even with me, so I have very little to go on." He took a deep breath.  
  
"Fred had been on the trail of something potentially important, although he was pretty vague about the details," George began. "All he had were a couple of drawings (some sort of arcane design, maybe a carving, we couldn't tell) and some very ambiguous stories surrounding them. I'd never been entirely happy about this particular operation, to be honest. I didn't trust the informant as far as I could kick him, but Fred assured me it would be a breeze, and with lots of extra kudos with the Ministry as a bonus."  
  
George had reluctantly agreed to cover Fred's absence in the usual way, lulled into a false sense of security by his brother's insistence that he would only be away for a matter of days. In fact, even when days became weeks and eventually a month slipped past, George did not worry unduly. Fred's maverick behaviour drove Ministry staff to distraction, but George knew his brother would make contact just as soon as he was able.  
  
"Then I came home very late one evening and found Hermione asleep over her desk." George continued. "When she'd woken up enough, she told me about her sudden flood of work. I listened, polite conversation really, then something seemed to click. The types of cases she was defending were so odd and unusual that I found my intelligence antennae twitching." George paused, looking across at Hermione. Taking the hint, she also took up the narrative.  
  
"My firm has traditionally dealt with civil litigation, specialist opinions, contracts, that sort of thing," Hermione began promptly, "but the stuff we're dealing with lately is largely criminal in nature. Also, the type of case we're being hired for is really very unusual: people accused of crimes they seemed to have no memory of committing, and no motive; wizards sent to Azkaban for use of Unforgivable Curses, all the while screaming their innocence; people disappearing, Muggles and wizards, and others accused of their murders." Hermione paused to take a fortifying sip of coffee.  
  
"I think the final straw was when I became involved in a case of theft regarding an important magical artefact," she continued. "The thief had been caught, but although he was an habitual criminal and known to me personally in my professional life, this particular offence didn't have the right feel about it, if you know what I mean. It just wasn't his style. Also once apprehended, this particular crook was usually pretty co- operative for the sake of a plea bargain. Not this time though: he was adamant that he was innocent." She sighed. "Didn't help him - straight back to Azkaban."  
  
As Hermione came to a natural conclusion, George stepped in again.  
  
"Time went on," he continued, "and eventually I grew worried enough about Fred to contact Harry." He turned to nod at the other man. "As I feared, Harry could throw no light on Fred's whereabouts, nor could he glean any information on how long he had been missing."  
  
There was a pause. Harry shifted in his seat, stroking his bottom lip with an index finger.  
  
"I think it's time we called on Lee to explain his part," he said, as though chairing a meeting. Lee nodded, clearing his throat.  
  
"You've heard from Hermione about how she started to wonder not only about the sudden increase in her workload, but also the type of case," Lee began. "What you don't know is that it's not only affecting Advocates in London. Wizarding lawyers all over the country are inundated, and most of their colleagues abroad are similarly bogged down. She mentioned this phenomenon in passing one evening round at the flat. I was working on a very sophisticated system for data analysis at the time and I felt I could do worse than use Hermione's problem as a test case for the programme.  
  
"We did a surface analysis of the data," he continued. "We broke it up into fields of variability - like, type of crime, how many persons involved, ages of victims and perpetrators, etc. etc. all the way through to time of day, colour of clothing, whether the perp. owned a pet, what colour their bathroom was painted - you know, from the sublime to the ridiculous. It took quite a long time, but eventually I had it sorted and I then began the task of getting it on to the computer. The results were surprising - a number of very strong correlations. The problem then was interpretation."  
  
Lee glanced at Hermione and she shrugged.  
  
"And I'm afraid it remains the problem," she finished bluntly. "We're researchers, Lee and I, not criminal analysts and, frankly, we don't have any idea what we've got. To be honest, I'm not sure our results are solely crime based. Some of them point a long way beyond crime into politics - and not just wizard politics either. This is something that seems to embrace both wizards and Muggles alike, and whatever it is, it's on a massive scale."  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. It seems to me we've got two different scenarios here." The others all turned to look at Ginny who it was speaking.  
  
"I may be very stupid," she continued humbly, "but I don't see the connection between Lee's analysis and Fred's disappearance." George stirred again.  
  
"I admit, I was reluctant to see any sort of link myself." he began awkwardly. "That is, until half the Aurors in London turned up on my doorstep and I found myself hauled into custody accused of Fred's murder."  
  
"Oh Merlin!" gasped Ginny, her hands to her mouth.  
  
"Indeed." George's eyes were stony. "And if I hadn't been playing my little double-act, I'd probably be languishing in Azkaban right now." Ginny gave a little sob. George leaned over to lay a hand on her arm.  
  
"Don't jump to conclusions, Ginny," he said soothingly. "Fred's a very good operative - one of the best, and the Ministry doesn't take losers. I believe he is very much alive and kicking, he's just not able to contact us for some reason." He ran an impatient hand through his hair.  
  
"I followed every lead I had," he continued. "I spoke to anyone who might have information, used tracer charms, pulled in favours - nothing. Then, out of the blue, came yesterday's little brush with the great Unknown. Now, I'm afraid if Fred doesn't make contact in the next day or so, I have only one option left to me: to inform the Ministry whatever the cost."  
  
The corners of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.  
  
"And that's when things will really get interesting."  
  
"George," Lee began, breaking the resulting silence, "you mentioned the business in that temple out there as though it were connected with Fred's disappearance. I don't want to appear stupid, but am I missing something here?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I seem to have skipped a link," George replied. "You know I mentioned drawings of some kind of design, maybe a carving? Fred took the documents with him when he made off the last time and I hardly gave them another thought. Until this morning when I saw that altar."  
  
He leaned forward, his eyes swinging from one person to another.  
  
"The wooden altar was covered with carvings just like the ones in Fred's drawings. He never told me what they were supposed to represent, or where they were from, but these carvings are the same design, I'd lay my life on it." He leaned back against the sofa and put his hands above his head.  
  
"I guess that just about wraps it up," George said somberly. Hermione fixed him with a glare and leaned forward ominously.  
  
"George, please credit us with a little intelligence," Hermione replied crisply. "It is not wrapped up, nor will it be until you explain what you did to trigger the booby trap in the temple, and how."  
  
"Huh?" said Ron, puzzled. "What booby trap?"  
  
"Well what else did you think it was?" Hermione shot back with barely controlled impatience. "An earthquake?" She turned once more to George.  
  
"I'm not letting you off the hook that easily, Weasley," Hermione said firmly. "We know now why you just happened to have specialist Ministry property hanging around in your wallet, we've coped with your revelations concerning your double identity and Fred's disappearance, we've even swallowed whole the news about what you really do for a living - now, please, just get this last little thing off your chest, will you? Believe me, you'll feel ever so much better afterwards."  
  
"Fred was always better at this sort of thing than me," George muttered, cringing at her heavy sarcasm. "Okay, it's this way.  
  
"Fred got those drawings off some crazy old wizard who was slightly involved with the theft of Morgana's Mirror six months ago. That robbery even made the Daily Prophet, unfortunately. It was far too important to be totally hushed up. This guy seemed to think these inscriptions were important somehow, although none of the Ministry cryptologists could make head nor tail of them. Fred reported most of this guy's ravings, most of them scarcely made sense anyway, but Fred decided to leave one small thing out of his official report. He tried to kid me that it was all nonsense, that it would be embarrassing to put something so crazy in his report, but I wasn't fooled. This old wizard, he mentioned the Holy Grail."  
  
There was a reverent silence as none of those present could think of a suitable reply.  
  
"The Holy Grail." said Harry, finally. "Subject of Muggle legend, associated with the great wizard Merlin, connections with early pagan religions. The greatest magical artefact of all time."  
  
"Then it existed?" Lee was sitting on the edge of his seat. Harry nodded.  
  
"Oh yes, it existed all right." he replied equably. "I've come across far too many references to it in my travels and researches for it to be the product of someone's fevered imagination. Whether it still exists, however, is quite another matter." He paused, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.  
  
"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," Harry began again. "I shall need to examine Hermione and Lee's research on an urgent basis, but for now, let's hear the end of George's exploits in the temple." He gestured for his friend to continue.  
  
"I freely admit, I must have been crazy just to walk straight up to the altar and not expect to fall into any kind of danger," George went on, "but there it was. I reached the thing intact and had just started to examine it when my magical detection alarm started beeping."  
  
At their confused expressions, he unclipped a small device from his belt and held it out to their curious gazes.  
  
"Second item of specialist Ministry property," George said, shortly. "Registers presence and levels of dark magic. This device was going crazy. Only I could hear it, of course."  
  
"George," said Ron in a strangled voice, "when you told me that thing was a mileometer you used for long-distance running, I believed you, you - you git!"  
  
George flashed him a quick grin, then became serious once more.  
  
"At this point, Hermione freaked and tried to drag me away from the altar." George shrugged. "It was then that I spotted it." He reached into his pocket, brought out a small object and laid it carefully on the coffee table.  
  
At first sight, it was nothing more than a stone. About as big as the average man's hand, it was a kind of dull pink quartz covered in scratches. No one touched it; no one spoke.  
  
"Well done, George," Harry murmured with feeling then held up his hands warningly. "Don't handle it, please, any of you. It may be attuned to George. I doubt it, but I don't want to take any chances."  
  
Hermione leaned forward to get as close to the thing as she could without actually coming into contact with it in any way. Ron tried to squeeze his broad shoulders between Lee and Ginny to get a peek.  
  
"What on earth is it?" Hermione queried, looking as puzzled as she ever had.  
  
"Harry, do you know what it is?" asked Ginny, timidly.  
  
"No, not yet," replied Harry, gently, "but I think I know how to find out."  
  
Harry slid his wand from an inside pocket and passed it slowly over the stone, muttering inaudibly. A mist rose, obscuring most of the coffee table, swirling around the stone, blurring its outlines. Then, with no rhyme or reason, it began to lengthen and broaden. It changed colour and the scratches became clearer, sharper. Harry sat back and watched his magic take effect. Once the mist had cleared, the five friends leaned forward interestedly. The stone was now at least six inches square, black, and covered not by scratches, but by what looked like an ancient language. George was the first to react.  
  
"Well, it beats me," he sighed. "It's got to have some significance - I found the thing under the altar, for Merlin's sake."  
  
"Oh, it's certainly important, George," said Harry hunched over the stone, his eyes alight with interest. "In fact, it could be the key to this whole mystery."  
  
Hermione tilted her head to one side, minutely examining the surface of the stone.  
  
"It's definitely some kind of script," she said decisively. "But is it a wizard or a Muggle language, I wonder?" Lee shook his head.  
  
"It's hardly likely to be Muggle, Hermione," he protested. "Not with all those enchantments on it."  
  
"Oh, I don't know." She was frowning in concentration. "It really depends upon how old it is."  
  
No one could shed light on the strange language. Harry sat back in his chair and sighed.  
  
"We're not getting any further, are we?" he said, looking around the group. "I suggest we throw in the towel for tonight. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've travelled half way across the world today, and I'm tired!"  
  
Murmuring assent, the others started to make departure noises. Ginny helped Hermione clear the coffee things. Ron started to follow but turned back as Harry spoke his name.  
  
"I want to try to get into the temple tomorrow," Harry said quietly. "I'd do it now, but I don't trust the dark. Ron, would you be prepared to come with me? I'd rather not go alone and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have watching my back."  
  
"Of course," replied Ron staunchly. "I'd be delighted."  
  
Lee looked up as Ginny came back into the room and smiled at her.  
  
"I reckon it's time we all went home," he said. "I'll give you a lift to your flat, if you like." Harry looked up.  
  
"No, Lee, don't worry," he said before Ginny could open her mouth. "I'll finish what I started. Besides," and his eyes twinkled, "if there's likely to be any fisticuffs with Mr. Markland, I'm the one responsible for abducting Ginny at the dead of night so I feel I should face the consequences."  
  
"Oh, you!" Ginny punched Harry playfully in the shoulder, but did not object to the change in arrangements.  
  
In fact, Harry looked as though he was actually relishing the prospect of taking on Ginny's boyfriend. Ron raised his eyebrows and exchanged a glance with Lee but refrained from comment. Ginny slipped back to the kitchen to say her farewells while Harry went to the hall closet in search of her Firebolt.  
  
"Now don't forget about tomorrow evening," Hermione was saying to Ginny as Harry returned. "7.00pm for 7.30pm and Fred - sorry, George - is cooking, so at least it'll be edible!"  
  
"Oh, Hermione!" exclaimed Ginny, kissing her on the cheek. "Your cooking is terrific, I really don't know why you keep putting yourself down."  
  
"Call it habit - and close association with your brothers," returned Hermione tartly. In answer to Harry's raised eyebrows, Hermione explained.  
  
"A couple of weeks back, we fixed for Ginny and David to come over tomorrow for dinner."  
  
Harry winced inwardly.  
  
"I'll go visit Giovanni's, don't you worry," he began, unwilling to share a continent with David Markland, let alone a dinner table, but Hermione shook her head.  
  
"It was never going to be formal," she told him. "Just George, Ginny and David, and Ron me, but the dining room table can easily accommodate Lee and yourself as well, Harry. I squared it with Lee earlier. Oh, do come. It'll be fun."  
  
Hermione couldn't quite convince herself of that last statement, and Harry was just about to cry off when he noticed Ginny looking earnestly at him. Sighing inwardly, he relented.  
  
"Okay, Hermione, I'll be here," he said resignedly. Hermione was clearly relieved, grateful for the extra support with a Muggle guest who wasn't the friendliest of people. However, Harry could have told her that if Markland was inclined to trouble the waters, he, Harry, was not disposed to pour oil on them - unless to set fire to it.  
  
He and Ginny flew straight back to her flat with none of the aerobatics of the outward journey. The air was cold and Ginny started to shiver, so much so that Harry wrapped his cloak around her and flew one-handed for most of the way. He set her down on the balcony, noticing that the patio door was still ajar.  
  
"You'd better go in quickly," Harry whispered, his mouth close to Ginny's ear. "That wasn't the best of landings: we might have woken your man." Ginny turned towards Harry and suddenly lifted a hand to smooth his hair, ruffled by the wind.  
  
"Is sun-bleaching the fashionable norm in LA?" she enquired, smiling. "Or did you just not notice?"  
  
"If I'm totally honest, I did notice it," Harry said. He was glad it was dark as his face felt decidedly warm. "To be honest, I couldn't be bothered to worry about it. However, I think I'm going to have to do something soon: you and Hermione are making me paranoid!" He squeezed Ginny's hand fondly then reluctantly released her. Ginny began to move towards the patio doors, then lingered, looking back at him.  
  
"Thanks for coming to get me, Harry," Ginny said in a low voice. "I don't think I could have coped with hearing about Fred tomorrow, after everyone else. I already feel as though I've lost touch with my family and all my old friends. Getting such information second-hand would have just about finished me off, I think."  
  
Ginny stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek then with a swirl of light fabric, she was gone.  
  
It was just as well.  
  
"Darling, what on earth are you doing out on the balcony - at this time of night?" Markland himself, debonair in oriental silk, stood in the living room, yawning and running a hand through his hair. Harry ducked quickly below the level of the windowsill adjacent to the patio doors and waited.  
  
"I couldn't sleep." Harry heard Ginny say in a plaintive tone. "I was watching the stars." That much was true: she and Harry had admired the clarity of the heavens as they had sped back to her flat. There was a swish of fabric and a soft sound as of kissing.  
  
"Come to bed," said Markland, in a low suggestive voice, abruptly punctuated by a muffled exclamation from Ginny.  
  
"Well, what do you expect?" Markland continued, accompanied by the whisper of cloth sliding against skin. "If you choose to wear something so sheer it leaves nothing to the imagination, you must take the consequences."  
  
The small amount of light faded and disappeared entirely as the couple went out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. Harry paused for a moment on the balcony, aware that his breathing was ragged. He looked down at his hands, unclenching them to see pale crescents in the skin where his nails had bitten into the palms. Presently, he realised that it was starting to rain. The journey home seemed longer than before, and served to make Harry thoroughly wet and miserable. Still, at least it took his mind off what was currently happening chez Markland.  
  
~oo0oo~  
  
Back at the house, Ron was the only one left in the West Room. On his knees over the stone, muttering and making notes on a pad of paper, he looked up when Harry entered.  
  
"Raining is it?" Ron enquired then shrugged in sympathy. "Bad luck. Doesn't it always happen?"  
  
"I haven't needed water repellent spells for years, what with living in LA." Harry shook his streaked hair making water spray out over the carpet. "When it came to it, I couldn't remember a single one."  
  
But Ron wasn't listening. He was staring at where droplets from Harry's hair had splashed on to the stone. A small patch was no longer black but translucent where the water had touched it.  
  
"Harry," Ron said, cautiously, "just shake your head again, but over the stone this time."  
  
Uncomprehending, Harry obeyed and was rewarded with a patchwork of clear areas, revealing something tantalisingly hidden in the depths of the stone. Harry glanced over to the window where the full moon was sending silver light into the room, glancing off the tabletop and the strange stone too.  
  
"Of course!" he murmured, almost inaudibly. "How could I have missed it?"  
  
"Quickly!" he snapped. "Ron, is there anything in this house or garden which collects rainwater?" Ron thought swiftly.  
  
"There's a water butt outside the kitchen door."  
  
"Thank Merlin!" breathed Harry, taking off at a run. "If this is what I think it is, it won't react to tap water."  
  
Once sprinkled with rainwater, the stone became totally translucent, displaying its inner message clearly.  
  
"Yes!" hissed Harry, quietly to himself, frantically copying down the suddenly revealed runes on Ron's pad of paper. He had just finished and was carefully checking each outline when without warning, the moonlight faded as a cloud obscured it, and the stone became suddenly opaque again.  
  
"Did you get it?" demanded Ron, breathlessly.  
  
"I think so, and I think it's accurate." Harry nodded, his eyes shining. "It was a double bluff, Ron. I've seen something like it before, but it's a very rare occurrence. You see this artefact is only magical by association, not by origin." At Ron's puzzled glance, he hastened to explain.  
  
"Because the stone responded to my disclosure spell, we were meant to think that we had uncovered its secrets." Harry began, his voice suffused with suppressed excitement. "However, I reckon we'll find that the glyphs on the surface are either meaningless or indecipherable. They were meant to make us waste time trying, don't you see? However, by an incredible stroke of luck, we had the two ingredients that allowed us to see the true appearance of the stone, just for a moment: rainwater and the light of the moon. When all is said and done, it's not even a magical artefact, it's an enchanted Muggle thing."  
  
He paused to examine what he had written on the pad of paper.  
  
"It's a very old script, Ron, ancient Aramaic. I think I can make a start on this, but we'll need to spend tomorrow in that fount of all the wisdom and knowledge of the ancient world."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"The World Wizard Library, you dunce!"  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
It was like old times again, thought Harry, as the following day he, Ron and Hermione made their way towards a library. Granted, it was a professional wizard library, probably the single most comprehensive collection of magical knowledge in the known world, but Hermione had used it so many times she could have practically run the place single-handed, and she reckoned there wasn't much they couldn't find out about the ancient world if they were persistent.  
  
Where the World Wizard Library was situated was a well-kept secret. The only way to get there was to go to one of a number of designated exchanges and pick up a Portkey. Having ascertained that the exchange Hermione habitually used in Kensington was Out Of Service, the three friends set out for the Centrepoint exchange on the Underground, having decided that broomsticks would only be an encumbrance.  
  
Walking through Soho at 10 o'clock in the morning was nowhere near as disconcerting as during the night hours, but Hermione still found it necessary to keep her eyes firmly front. Nevertheless, a slight blush around her jawline betrayed her unfamiliarity with such blatant profiteering. Harry and Ron, however, gazed about them with interest, Ron occasionally nudging Harry to point out something particularly interesting. They were snorting with laughter, practically falling into the gutter, when Hermione raised her eyes skywards.  
  
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were back at Hogwarts," she scolded them. "Haven't you grown up at all in the last four years? And Ron, don't go into that place, please - I'm not sure you'd come out the same person as you went in."  
  
She clutched at Ron's arm, swinging him round to face her, away from the luridly decorated emporium on their right. Ron's features settled into an expression of utter astonishment.  
  
"Hermione, I'm surprised at you!" he exclaimed. "You, a staunch socialist, defender of house elves and all other oppressed minorities, scorn to visit "Luscious Linda's Lesbian Lovelies"? My dear girl, they need champions for their cause just as much as any house elf! And besides, according to the Ministry instructions, this is the Centrepoint exchange!"  
  
Ron ducked as Hermione swung at him furiously with her handbag. He then leaped up the steps into "Luscious Linda's" followed closely by Harry. Hermione scuttled quickly after them, averting her eyes from the garish posters. The doorman glared at them and was scarcely any less suspicious when they identified themselves as bona fide wizards. Mutely, he gestured to a small kiosk housing an old-fashioned telephone bearing the legend "Out of Order" on a small, dog-eared card stuck to one of the glass panels.  
  
Having regained her composure, Hermione opened the kiosk door, gesturing for the two boys to precede her. It was very cramped. Ron tried hard to make himself as small as possible but his broad shoulders took up most of the available space and Hermione found herself crushed between Ron's chest and the door. Simultaneously, the three wizards reached for the telephone receiver.  
  
.and were abruptly standing in a different lobby elsewhere.  
  
~oo0oo~  
  
The World Wizarding Library was a fascinating organisation, Harry thought as he stood looking around, establishing his bearings. He was fairly familiar with its layout, having been a frequent visitor in the past, and Hermione had practically lived in its environs while studying for her Advocate's Professional Exams, but Harry had to admit that he was surprised when Ron also betrayed some knowledge of it.  
  
"I came here for some research a couple of years ago - when I was doing my training," he explained. "It's rather intimidating, isn't it? But anything you want to know, they'll find it for you."  
  
Hermione went immediately to the Catalogue to compile a list of suitable books. The Catalogue consisted of a very long counter built against a wall with a number of quills and pieces of parchment set at regular intervals along its surface. Hermione took a seat at one of these and began to speak, apparently into the air. Immediately, the quill jumped to attention and started to write quickly on the parchment. After a while, Hermione shook her head and pointed at the parchment: parts of the script disappeared, and quill swiftly replaced them with other suggestions. While this process continued, Harry and Ron stood around rather at a loose end until Hermione was satisfied with her book list and was ready to issue them with instructions or detail them to fetch and carry. After a short period of abstraction, Harry turned to his friend, a peculiar expression on his face.  
  
"Ron, this Muggle Ginny's shacked up with." Harry couldn't quite look his friend in the eye. Ron started in surprise at his friend's coarse language, but merely looked at him quizzically.  
  
"I know he's her agent," Harry continued, "but what else does he do?"  
  
"That's it, as far as I know." Ron shrugged. Harry tried again.  
  
"But they have a flat in Hampstead." Harry insisted. "You and I both know that sort of property doesn't come cheap. Has he an independent income?"  
  
"I don't think so," Ron replied after some thought. "I think it's all earned money. Ginny's not the only artist on his books, you know, but I have to admit that from everything she says she's the most profitable by a long shot."  
  
"So you're telling me that this Markland guy is more or less living off Ginny's income, with precious little other money coming in?" Harry felt his temper begin to smoulder. "And he has a mortgage on a very expensive flat, Gucci shoes, Armani suits, and a lifestyle that would make most stockbrokers drool?"  
  
"And he drives a Jeep," added Ron, with conviction. "In London. Says it's all part of the successful agent image."  
  
"Why does she stay?" Harry was beginning to lose it. He kept his voice calm only with effort. "Surely she can see she's being taken for a ride?" Ron gave Harry a wide-eyed, rather surprised look.  
  
"Don't you know how they got together? Oh, well, it's ancient history now, but I'll tell you anyway." Ron paused to gather his thoughts.  
  
"We were with Ginny when she first met Markland - Hermione, Fred, George and me - in a karaoke pub down on the Bow Road: it's a Chinese Restaurant now." Ron began in a matter of fact manner. "She was the only one of us who would dare to take up the challenge to sing into that machine. To our surprise, the punters loved her. After she sat down again, this bloke came up to speak to her. I could see by her face she was impressed, after all he's got all the gear and he looks pretty cool, but he claimed to be an agent of sorts and asked her to come for a voice tryout. We teased her about it afterwards, but it turned out he'd given her his card and she thought enough of him to follow it up. The rest is history - within a couple of weeks she'd moved in with him and he was pestering her to give up her job."  
  
"Job?" queried Harry. .  
  
"Wizarding Radio," Ron said enthusiastically, "with Ernie MacMillan - you remember him from our year? In Hufflepuff."  
  
Harry nodded: he remembered Ernie well.  
  
"Well, she does some reporting for him," Ron explained. "Editing, sound work - you name it, our Ginny's probably had a go at it. She only works there part-time; her singing takes up the rest of her life. Frankly, I'd be happier if she threw all her creative weight into Wizarding Radio and ditched the gigs, but hell, I'm only her brother."  
  
Harry swallowed back his rising ire yet again.  
  
"Why didn't you do something, Ron?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"He's ruining her life, not to mention stunting her magical growth as a sorceress. How can you just stand by and ."  
  
"Now, hold on, Harry. Whoa, just think about what you're saying here."  
  
The anger in Harry's eyes had Ron backing off, holding his hands out in front of him defensively.  
  
"She's a big girl now, Harry, she's her own person and she's got to make her own decisions. My opinion of that git doesn't cut any ice with Ginny, and I can't interfere in her personal life. She wouldn't thank me for it in the long run anyway."  
  
Ron paused, a quirky smile spreading across his face.  
  
"I tell you what, Harry, if you're so worried about her, why don't you make a move on her yourself?"  
  
Ron expected Harry to blush, to tell him he was barmy, to punch him in the shoulder and to demand to know where Ron had got such a stupid idea. But Harry's face only twisted in pain and he turned away, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets.  
  
"I don't have relationships," Harry said, bitterly. "Only funerals."  
  
Ron's eyes widened in shock. He opened his mouth to apologise, but before he could speak Hermione approached them. She was smiling broadly, accompanied by an elderly, grey-haired wizard.  
  
"Ron, Harry, come and meet Professor Radcliffe." Hermione was very excited. "He's occupying the Chair of Ancient Languages at the Wizarding University in Florence, but he's over here doing some research - amazing luck running into him like this."  
  
Radcliffe smiled vaguely. The stranger was a small, wizened man with skin the colour of parchment and about as dry. His robes were of ancient tweed, showing definite signs of wear at the collar and cuffs, and with leather patches at the elbows. Determinedly, Harry threw off his abstracted mood, and advanced, holding out a hand in greeting.  
  
"Harry Potter, Professor," he said, smiling as he grasped the proffered hand. "We've corresponded in the past - over the Egyptian statue I was trying to locate two years ago."  
  
The professor's smile broadened as he grasped Harry's hand strongly.  
  
"Good to meet you at last, Potter! You know, your ideas gave me the inspiration for an entire series of articles in "The Alchemist" last year."  
  
"I read them," responded Harry, "but I had no idea I was instrumental in their creation!"  
  
The other man laughed good-humouredly.  
  
"Oh, yes indeed," Radcliffe affirmed. "The young lady tells me you're on the trail of something else involving old runes, eh?"  
  
Guiding the professor to a table and chairs in the corner of the lobby, Hermione quickly outlined the problem and produced Harry's copy of the inscriptions. The Professor frowned at the outlines briefly and held them up to the light.  
  
"Ah, yes," Radcliffe muttered. "Yes, Potter, I agree with you - ancient Aramaic, but a strange variant I haven't come across before. Now let me see ."  
  
He began to scrawl what looked like gibberish to Ron on Harry's notepad, but Hermione was nodding in agreement and making suggestions. Eventually, he gave her the piece of paper - which turned out to be a comprehensive list of articles from learned journals and periodicals - and she departed to the desk to order them up from Archives.  
  
"Catalogue won't find those too easily," the Professor declared with satisfaction, "but I know what I'm looking for. The young lady and I will be able to make a fair stab at this by the end of the afternoon, I reckon."  
  
Hermione returned and took Ron to one side while Harry was talking to the professor.  
  
"It really only needs one of us here, and it might as well be me - seeing as he's already taken a shine to my company!" Hermione said, with a twinkle. "I know we're working on a short timescale because we don't really know what's involved, so I suggest you take Harry back to the house and let him take a look at whatever's in that temple. I'm quite sure he'd rather visit it by day."  
  
Ron looked slightly reluctant. His eyes flickered between the Professor and Hermione several times before reluctantly deciding that she could take care of herself.  
  
"Oh, and Ron?"  
  
He turned back with a questioning look.  
  
"Be careful," Hermione told him sincerely then turned back to her research.  
  
Ron and Harry ported back to Soho and from thence Apparated to St. John's Wood.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Harry stood at the back door staring at the tangle of trees, shrubs and undergrowth that led from the patio.  
  
"Flamel's Stone!" he muttered, shaking his head. "It's much worse than I remember it."  
  
"Of course it is." replied Ron, coming to stand next to him. "It's been four years since you saw it, remember?"  
  
"Yes, I know," Harry was now looking slightly puzzled, "but I don't remember encountering 20ft trees when I checked the boundaries."  
  
"Perhaps it's under an enchantment." Ron suggested. Harry said nothing.  
  
"Sorry," muttered Ron, his face reddening in embarrassment. "Of course it is. How could a place like this exist in Central London otherwise?"  
  
"Oh, I knew all about that when I bought it," Harry explained, smiling grimly. "I beat all the developers who were simply slitting each other throats for the chance to get their grubby little fingers on this property. I went to speak to the vendor, discovered she was a witch and hey presto! I was immediately the preferred purchaser. She'd been renting it out for years, broken up into flats, using a variant on the Everyday charm to hide the scale of the garden from her tenants. Unfortunately, she wasn't terribly skilled in charmwork; once she'd sold the house to me, the spell started to lapse. That was when George and I decided we ought to take a hike round the boundaries." He sighed and gestured to the expanse of land.  
  
"What's here is very old magic indeed, Ron," Harry continued. "This is real land, as real as it ever gets, but you won't find it on any map, wizard or Muggle. The charm on this garden is one of the strongest I have ever seen. It doesn't age or fade with time, and it's so inextricably linked with the earth and plant life that I don't think it could ever be reversed or halted. Everything in this garden is something of a law unto itself - normal magical conditions don't apply here." He turned to his friend with a very serious expression.  
  
"With all my expertise and knowledge, Ron, I'm not happy about this piece of real estate." Harry said and sighed. "And I never have been." He stepped off the patio and plunged into the undergrowth, followed closely by Ron.  
  
Although they had brought their wands, for reasons of safety in unknown territory, Harry insisted they use no magic, at least until he had examined the temple closely. So instead they hacked and slashed away at the greenery with garden implements, shears and a small scythe called a hook.  
  
"I don't understand this," panted Ron, wiping an arm over his forehead. "They said they made a pathway only yesterday. Not a particularly good path, admittedly, but there's no trace of it today. Do you think we're going the right way?" Harry made no reply, but his expression became grave.  
  
It took quite some time before they could get a glimpse of the building, never mind try to get in. It was only after some considerable time that Harry stood contemplating the large silver birch blocking the doorway to the temple.  
  
"Hey," said Ron indignantly, "I thought they said Ginny had shifted that thing!"  
  
"I'm sure they did," Harry replied. "I just don't think it liked its new home." He cast about for another way in but, as George before him, failed to find one.  
  
"Well, it's either move the tree like Ginny did, Apparate, or shrink to 50% and crawl through," Harry said. "Apparating's out - we don't know the lie of the land well enough, and I don't want to risk even a simple shrinking charm in a place that stinks so strongly of unknown enchantment. That leaves levitating the tree, and frankly I'm not sure I can do it. Can you?" Ron shook his head slowly.  
  
"We could always pick Ginny up from Wizarding Radio and get her to do it again." Ron suggested, but Harry vetoed that idea.  
  
"We really need to get in there now, before whatever's behind this starts fighting back. Ah, well." Harry sighed. "Ginny's going to be really pissed at me." He produced his wand from a sleeve pocket, concentrated for a moment then pointed it at the tree.  
  
"Reducto!" Harry declaimed. The tree suddenly burst into fragments and totally disintegrated. Ron sighed. That's as good a way of announcing our arrival as ringing the doorbell! he thought, but nevertheless followed Harry quickly through the debris and into the temple.  
  
Inside, the surroundings were exactly as Hermione, Ginny, George and Colin had found them, except for one notable difference. The altar was no longer empty. Instead, a large stone plinth covered in strange runes and symbols dominated the structure. Harry stared at the altar, the blood draining from his face. His shoulders sagged in weariness.  
  
"What's up?" queried Ron in alarm. The other man shook his head wordlessly.  
  
"If I had known this," Harry replied, hoarsely, "I would never have dared to enter this place." Abruptly he gained control once more.  
  
"Quickly!" Harry hissed, making recklessly for the altar. "Where was it George said he took the stone?"  
  
"He said underneath the altar," replied Ron, catching up. "In a place that was supposed to be handy, if you get the drift."  
  
His tone implied that he, Ron, didn't. Harry was already examining the base of the altar. With an impatient noise, he reached into a pocket and pulled out the stone itself. Immediately it began to glow, a soft rosy radiance. Harry stared at it in alarm and jerked it away from the altar, but the light did not decrease; rather it grew brighter.  
  
"What's happening?" demanded Ron, his face distorted with fear.  
  
"I don't know," replied Harry, between his teeth, "but I fear I am going to find out. It's pulling me away from here."  
  
Jerkily, Harry began to move away from the altar, down towards the doorway, the stone held out in front of him like a water diviner. As he approached a long, moth-eaten tapestry on the right-hand side of the doorway, a second light began to shine brightly through the material. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry raised his hand, pulling the tattered material away to reveal a niche in the wall containing a cup. Gold with silver inlay and shaped like a goblet, it stood maybe about six or eight inches high, bathed in the unearthly light. Harry reached out a hand to grasp it then recoiled.  
  
"Ron," he whispered, "you take it." The other man's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.  
  
"Me?" Ron whispered. "Are you sure?" Harry nodded.  
  
Swallowing on a dry throat, Ron slowly put his hand into the niche and grasped the goblet by its stem, carefully pulling it towards him. They gazed at it in wonder.  
  
"What is it?" Ron breathed, hardly able to take his eyes off it.  
  
"Something very important, Ron." Harry said, with a hint of triumph in his voice. He smiled broadly. "Something I don't believe the dark side knew was here."  
  
They glanced back just as the light went out. Harry ran his hands over the wall to find it solid, no niche to be seen.  
  
"It only appears with the stone's presence - that's a nice little charm!" Ron remarked. Harry glanced around, trying to ascertain if anything had changed while they had been pre-occupied.  
  
"I think we'd better get out of here, Ron," Harry said, quickly. "After all, I did blast that tree into the middle of next week, and I don't suppose whoever is using this place is going to overlook a thing like that!"  
  
But when they went to leave, they found the guardian silver birch tree back in its accustomed place again.  
  
"Okay, we Apparate out - fast!" said Harry without missing a beat. But Ron was quicker. Delving into an inside pocket, he produced an object the size and shape of a credit card.  
  
"I borrowed this from George - just in case!" Ron said, flashing a triumphant grin. Grabbing Harry by the arm, he activated the Portkey and the two wizards disappeared.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Hermione walked up the pathway to Harry's House, weary but exultant: she had spent the entire afternoon in the World Wizarding Library with Professor Radcliffe, poring over books and scanning articles, and they had finally struck gold. She now had a rough working translation of the strange runes, and enough background in her notes to be able to fine-tune it where necessary.  
  
She was a little surprised to find no one home and wandered into the kitchen in search of something to drink. There, she found magical writing strung over the stove informing the reader that George was in residence but he had gone shopping: "Someone has to refill the fridge and the larder, not to mention the freezer."  
  
Hermione smiled rather guiltily. Although she probably did most of the cooking, she could rarely force herself into the supermarket. George, however, seemed to quite enjoy trudging up and down the aisles with a trolley, just so long as he could use Fred's car to bring it all home.  
  
Surely Ron and Harry can't still be in the temple? she thought, worriedly, and just as she was about to start hacking her way through the garden to find out, the front door opened to admit them, tired and footsore but very excited about something. All three started talking at once.  
  
"You first," Harry ordered finally, gesturing to Hermione. She willingly told them about the translation, even starting to get out her notes while Ron made a pot of tea. Eventually, Harry stopped her.  
  
"We'll get to the fine print in a moment," he said. "Now, listen to this."  
  
Harry and Ron related the events in the Temple, including the discovery of the shining golden cup, which Ron promptly produced from a carrier bag stuffed into his pocket. They set it on the table and gazed reverently.  
  
"My wand, this is incredible!" Hermione breathed, raising her hand to touch it then glancing sideways at Harry. He shook his head.  
  
"I think we'd better keep the number of people in contact with this thing as few as possible for the moment," Harry said.  
  
"I assume this came from the temple," Hermione replied, frowning slightly in concentration. She eyed him shrewdly. "What on earth did you have to do to get it? I know it's dusty in there, but you two look as though you've been arguing territory with a Hungarian Horntail!"  
  
Harry and Ron exchanged glances and Ron shuffled his feet awkwardly.  
  
"The basic problem," Harry began, raising his eyes skywards, "is that pizza-brain here, the great hope of the Ministry of Magic, can't even programme a Portkey!"  
  
"It got us out of there when the tree blocked the doorway, didn't it?" protested Ron.  
  
"Harrods Food Hall again?" Hermione asked sympathetically, trying to suppress a smile.  
  
"Would that it had been!" Harry shook his head, his expression grim. "We ended up in a Ladies Lavatory somewhere east of Pimlico. We frightened the daylights out of two elderly Muggle ladies, and narrowly avoided being arrested by the Muggle police - I had to use a memory charm. To add insult to injury, neither of us had any Muggle money at all, and we were both too bushed to Apparate, so it had to be the Knight Bus or walk. In view of the imminent dinner engagement, we chose the Knight Bus - oh, my aching head!"  
  
The front door slammed and a tall figure burst into the kitchen laden with bags of shopping.  
  
"Move yourselves!" George shouted loudly as he elbowed them out of the way. "There's more in the car - give us a hand, can't you?"  
  
Harry and Hermione immediately leaped out of their chairs. Oblivious, Ron continued to gaze at the shining golden cup. George stopped unloading packets of chocolate biscuits to stare.  
  
"Wow, that's a beautiful thing!" George reached out to touch it but Ron caught his hand.  
  
"Sorry," said Ron, slightly awkwardly at George's quizzical look. "Harry reckons that as few people as possible should touch it. So far, only I have."  
  
"What is it?" George asked.  
  
"Beats me." Ron replied, shaking his head. "I've got some ideas though, but I'd like to hear what Harry has to say."  
  
They turned their heads as the others came back into the kitchen.  
  
"I may be wrong," said Harry, hauling in several bursting carrier bags and dumping them on the counter, "but I think what we're looking at here, my friends, is the mythical Holy Grail."  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	5. Chapter Five Confrontations and Solutio...

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
  
Chapter Five - Confrontations and Solutions  
  
The problem with having guests to dinner, thought Hermione, is that there's never enough time! Frantically, she hauled on a sheath dress in a deep blue, and checked that her legs were sufficiently suntanned to show without stockings,  
  
Earlier, whilst stowing George's shopping away in the larder, Hermione had glanced at the kitchen clock and clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. Preparations for the evening's dinner suddenly became urgent, and further discussions concerning the strange cup or, indeed, Hermione's own research were promptly shelved until further notice.  
  
Hermione bit her lip as she rapidly applied mascara. Unfortunately, there would be no further enlightenment over dinner either. Markland's stultifying presence would ensure that any conversation would be limited to the polite kind, and Hermione didn't dare telephone to cancel such a long- standing engagement at the last moment, much as she wanted to. Markland was already becoming sniffy with her, and even a small amount of aggravation was likely to result in him breaking off diplomatic relations completely. Hermione's friendship with Ginny was too precious for her to let it slide over something so trivial. Still, it was frustrating!  
  
George was nominally the chef, and happy to be so, but it had been all hands to the pumps almost immediately. Ron was detailed to put out smoked salmon with assorted salad leaves and thin slices of lemon. He had also managed to successfully decant a bottle of dill and mustard dressing into a jug without getting more than ten percent of it over the floor. Hermione had elected to make the pudding, which turned out to be a wonderfully fragrant exotic fruit salad accompanied by three different flavours of icecream. George, seriously occupied with fillet steak and Béarnaise sauce, had dragooned Harry into cleaning mushrooms, slicing tomatoes, trimming mange tout and dicing potatoes to be sautéed in sizzling butter. At the eleventh hour, Ron Apparated back to the flat to change and the others hurtled to their various rooms to shower quickly and throw on whatever decent clothes were closest. Hermione came into her study with a sigh of relief to find George already there, putting out bowls of nibbles and mixing drinks.  
  
"You angel!" she smiled, grazing her lips lightly over his cheek so as not to leave lipstick traces on his collar. He handed her a weak gin and tonic and went to dim the lights. Hermione glanced around, making sure all was tidy and that no incriminating papers had been left on show. Her study was an ideal place to serve drinks and nibbles, being so close to both the kitchen and the dining room. They would use the West Room again this evening for coffee.  
  
Ron and Lee arrived on foot, trying to act as Muggle-like as possible in case they ran into Ginny and Markland. They each took a well-earned drink from George and stood glancing wistfully at the peanuts and crisps. Hermione eyed her three boys critically over her glass: really, all the Hogwarts lads had turned out impressively easy on the eyes. George, although the heavier of the twins, was still tall and active-looking with a good-humoured, twinkling-eyed face. Lee was less easy to categorise, but that evening he looked as close to smooth as she had ever seen him. Ron, however, could truthfully be described as hot. Hermione smiled as she took in his appearance: expensive smart-casual and predominantly blue, which contrasted attractively with his hair and eyes.  
  
Ginny arrived punctually at 7.00, dazzling in sea-green silk, with a dour- looking Markland in tow. Her face lit up with genuine pleasure as she stepped forward to embrace Hermione warmly, despite the face that it had been less than 24 hours since they had last seen each other. Hermione paid dutiful homage to Markland, a head to toe advertisement for Gucci, but felt her stomach give an unaccustomed lurch. This is all a horrible mistake, she thought as his indifferent gaze swept over her, sliding away unmoved.  
  
Making a supreme effort, Hermione broke what threatened to be an awkward silence with a commonplace observation on the evening traffic levels in London. Ron and Lee made sterling attempts to assist her efforts; George lent occasional assistance in between keeping a weather eye on progress in the kitchen. Hermione sipped her drink, made the occasional comment and tried not to fidget. Where was Harry? She glanced surreptitiously at her watch: 7.20 and he still hadn't appeared. What on earth was he playing at?  
  
Abruptly, Harry entered the study apologising profusely. A business call, he explained to all who were listening, which could not be curtailed, only resolved. Hermione saw Ginny's gaze drawn towards him like a magnet. Turning her own eyes towards Markland, Hermione bit her lip. She was sure she hadn't imagined the sudden narrowing of those cold eyes and tightening of the mouth.  
  
Hermione turned to look at Harry herself and had to admit that Markland might well imagine he had cause for concern. Harry had changed beyond all recognition from the scrawny kid she had known at Hogwarts. He was dressed simply and casually in neutral stone and a brilliant white lawn shirt which clung to muscles she didn't remember him having before he left for LA. She smiled wryly. No wonder Ginny couldn't take her eyes off him, he was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous!  
  
George had truly outdone himself on the food, Ginny remarked to herself. Markland complained quietly about the high levels of cholesterol but she ignored him, eating and drinking everything put in front of her. She was now in that slightly heady stage which welcomes stars, moonlight and a good cup of coffee. Harry seemed slightly preoccupied, she noticed, and he wasn't drinking much at all. He had made slight general conversation with Lee and George, both of whom were within chatting distance, but although Hermione had placed him opposite Ginny, Harry had exchanged no more than a dozen words with her during the meal. She wondered if she had offended him in some way, or if he was simply trying to keep the peace with her boyfriend.  
  
Hermione served coffee in the West Room once again, accompanied by glorious sunset views, pink and gold against the western sky. Ginny stood gazing through the windows as the light slowly faded and the tinted trees sank into the dusk.  
  
"Do you come here often?" murmured a low voice in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned slightly and smiled at Harry.  
  
"Not as often as I'd like." Ginny looked at him directly. "Why were you ignoring me at dinner, Harry? You were supposed to be entertaining me with witty conversation, not wasting it all on Lee."  
  
"Just trying to keep the peace, for Hermione's sake," Harry shrugged. "After all, she did fix up this little gathering."  
  
"So, if you're afraid of disturbing it, why are you talking to me now?" Ginny tilted her head to one side quizzically. Harry gave a wicked grin, slid his hand under her elbow and leaned closer, lowering his voice.  
  
"Your boyfriend's looking for the bathroom." Harry told her, gravely. "And Ron took it upon himself to put a Confusion charm on the hall doorways. It should be a few minutes at least before he returns." Ginny shook with laughter then clapped a hand over her mouth with a little gasp.  
  
"What's this?" Harry objected, much amused. "Markland's dignity is not to be mocked, is that it?"  
  
Smiling a wide genuine smile, Harry took one of Ginny's hands in his and pressed it briefly to his mouth. Ginny's lips parted in surprise and she stared at him with wide, worried dark eyes. Harry's smile faded slightly and he was about to speak when both their heads whipped around to stare out of the window in astonishment. A brilliant white flash lit up the whole garden, turning night to day in an instant. A hollow boom whose vibrations shook the room, jangling the coffee cups, followed hard on its heels.  
  
"What in Merlin's name was that?" exclaimed Ron, putting down his cup with a clatter and making for the patio doors.  
  
Dropping Ginny's nerveless hand, Harry pressed his face close to the glass. Reflexively, he threw an arm over his eyes as a second flash, vivid as the first, left him momentarily blinded. Blinking back stinging tears, he groaned, turned away from the night sky and buried his face in his hands.  
  
"Too late!" he murmured. "I should have known better." Pulling himself together, he straightened quickly and gestured towards the French doors.  
  
"Someone open these." Harry barked.  
  
"Stand back!" Hermione already had her wand out.  
  
"Alohomora!"  
  
The doors sprang apart and Harry jumped through them, his glimmering white shirt disappearing into the darkness. Ginny paused only for a second before taking off in pursuit, followed by Ron, Lee and Hermione in quick succession.  
  
"What the .?"  
  
Unable to find the bathroom, David Markland reappeared in the doorway just in time to witness the unexpected exodus into the garden. Puzzled, curious and more than a little annoyed that a domestic crisis should have robbed his hosts of even the vaguest courtesy towards their guest, he sighed in irritation and followed in their wake.  
  
Ginny kept close behind Harry through the garden jungle. The going was a good deal faster than before because Harry, throwing all caution to the winds in favour of speed, was using the Reductus curse left, right and centre to blast himself a path through the thick undergrowth. They reached the temple, panting for breath, only to find their way blocked not merely by the persistent silver birch tree, but also by a closed rank of cloaked, hooded figures, silently awaiting them. Harry took one swift look and grabbed Ginny by the arm, hauling her behind a large shrub. The air was at once electric with power as Curses bounced off and around their temporary shelter. Ginny's hair crackled and tingled with static as she smoothed it down. Harry gritted his teeth: their leafy protection was slender indeed - it wouldn't last for long.  
  
"Death Eaters." Harry muttered, bitterly. "He must be attempting to take his full form once again on this plane."  
  
Ron overtook them at a run, leaping out from behind their flimsy shelter, wand at the ready.  
  
"Inflammatus!" he yelled releasing a stream of crimson fire from the end of his wand. A piercing scream confirmed that he had hit something, but Ron was oblivious, already aiming his next attack.  
  
"Cylon universus!"  
  
Hermione caught up with them just as four Death Eaters collapsed to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.  
  
"Ron," she began. "What on earth.?"  
  
"Reflexus!" A blue mist swept rapidly over Ron's body, establishing thrumming lines of power two inches from the surface of his skin. Curses bounced harmlessly back off the mesh, rebounding on their hapless creators. Hermione frowned in perplexity.  
  
"Lancea glacies!" shouted Ron. Two more Death Eaters suddenly stiffened, as though frozen solid.  
  
"I didn't know Ron knew that curse!" Hermione muttered to Ginny in astonishment. "Those are very accomplished spells, you know. They're only normally taught to specialists; wizards who use advanced defensive and offensive magic in the course of their employment." But Ginny wasn't listening. She was staring at the obstinate birch tree.  
  
"Harry," she said, puzzled. "I moved that tree once ."  
  
"I know," he interrupted. "It must be enchanted - it keeps moving back. Even the Reductus curse didn't stop it."  
  
"I wonder," Ginny said biting her lip. Then she took out her wand and concentrated.  
  
"Wingardium leviosa!" Ginny muttered, quietly, then "Silencio!" and a number of other murmured magical charms. The tree began to move once again, rising slowly upwards, freeing its roots from the earth just as before. Then with the same majestic motion, it turned gracefully in the air until it was horizontal, then it began to travel forwards. The huge trunk caught the nearest Death Eater painfully on the back of the neck and he cannoned into those in front of him. Abruptly, the whole rank was floored like so many ninepins. Dazedly, several started to get back to their feet, but the tree was there, swinging back at their faces this time. After a third pass, none of them stirred. Sweating profusely, Ginny deposited the tree gently by the side of the temple.  
  
"Great Merlin, that was inspired!" exclaimed Ron, charging up to hug his sister.  
  
"Twice in twenty-four hours is really rather tiring," Ginny replied, giving him a wan smile.  
  
"Would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on?"  
  
A loud, indignant voice carried over the murmur of praise being heaped upon Ginny. Her expression changed to one of dismay.  
  
"Oh, my wand - David!"  
  
Ginny shook herself free of Ron and Hermione, and turned to face him.  
  
"Why didn't you stay in the house?" Ginny found herself wailing.  
  
"Why on earth should I?" Markland retorted, shrugging his shoulders. "You went gallivanting out into the garden in the dark with Potter - what was I suppose to think?"  
  
Ginny stared at the ground, crimson with shame. Harry put a hand on her arm then turned to the other man.  
  
"Listen, Markland." Harry began in what was, for the circumstances, a very calm, collected tone. "Things are about to happen here that neither you nor any other Muggle could understand in a thousand years. And when I tell you your life is in danger, you'd better believe it. Ginny is right - it would have been a whole lot better if you had stayed in the house. However, you're here now, and we have no alternative but to make the best of it."  
  
Harry took a step forward, moving into the other man's air space until their faces were mere inches apart. Markland glared back without flinching.  
  
"From now on, you will do exactly as I say - no more, no less," Harry's voice was quiet, almost conversational. He flicked a glance towards the approaching figure of Lee Jordan.  
  
"Stick close to him, Lee." Harry commanded, holding the other wizard's gaze until he nodded, albeit reluctantly.  
  
"Lee is now officially your minder," Harry continued, turning back to Markland. "Move when he moves, and don't do anything stupid." Markland was clearly furious.  
  
"Now just a minute, Potter." blustered the Muggle, confused and angry. "What possible right have you to tell me."  
  
"Every right in the world at present," returned Harry, crisply. "Please credit me with the truth when I tell you that your well-being is a matter of supreme indifference to me at this time: there are far more important matters to be dealt with. If you want to come out of this in one piece, keep your head down until it's over."  
  
He turned his back on a gaping Markland, dismissing him from his active attention, and led the way over to the temple door. Ron stayed behind briefly to cast the full bodybind on the unconscious Death Eaters, just in case Ginny's tree hadn't done its job quite thoroughly enough. Signalling to the others for total silence, Harry peered gingerly around the door.  
  
The temple appeared to be empty, a situation Harry viewed with some suspicion considering the size of their would-be welcoming committee outside. Little seemed to have changed since their last visit. The huge altar was still in place, complete with stone plinth and decorative carvings, but the air was heavy with a musky, cloying scent that dulled the senses and robbed the breath. Putting a handkerchief over his mouth, Harry glanced around, tracing the source of the noxious fumes to a number of burning black candles housed in brackets around the walls of the temple and also on the altar itself. He heard Hermione begin to cough quietly and reached behind him to catch her wand arm before she could cast a Purification Charm.  
  
"Please - no one is to use magic in this place," he whispered, urgently. "We don't know what we're dealing with here, although I admit I've got a pretty good idea by now."  
  
"It's You-Know-Who, isn't it?" blurted Ron in a hoarse whisper, his face ashen. "Pretty much of a giveaway, really, with all those Death Eaters on the doorstep."  
  
"I believe he's trying to gain access to our dimension," Harry affirmed gravely. He took a deep breath, turned and addressed the others in low, careful tones.  
  
"When I defeated Voldemort at the end of my seventh year, I didn't kill him," Harry began. "The Ministry of Magic thought it wise not to let the wizarding world know of that little fact. No, I didn't destroy him, I merely banished him to another dimension, another plane of existence where he would be trapped for all time. Fudge didn't exactly bargain on him finding a way back, but I have to admit I'm not altogether surprised. I've been detecting his influence in our world for quite some time. Hermione and Lee's data from the legal system is just more corroborating evidence, and Fred, George and Ron too have been adding their observations to the melting pot."  
  
Harry started to strip off his white shirt. When Hermione blinked at him, he gave her a wry smile.  
  
"With this thing on, I show up like a searchlight." Harry said, pausing to remove his wand from its sleeve holster before throwing the shirt behind a tree. His muscular torso was the same heavily suntanned colour as his face. Ginny looked away, flushing slightly.  
  
"What about Fred?" George's voice was tense. Harry turned a grim expression towards his friend.  
  
"I'm afraid I just don't know, George," Harry admitted, humbly, "but the odds aren't very favourable, you have to admit."  
  
George lowered his eyes and shook his head slowly.  
  
"He can't be dead." George's voice was muffled but firm. "If Fred were dead, I'd know. That's all there is to it."  
  
"Look!" Ron whispered suddenly, pointing at the altar.  
  
The plinth glowed, a sickly, dull orange like iron in a blacksmith's fire. A wave of pure malevolence hurled its way through Harry's defences, sweeping them aside like rotten branches. Sudden sickness, frightening in its intensity, threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it down with clenched teeth.  
  
A low hiss echoed around the walls:  
  
"Aah! At laasssst!"  
  
A part of the dark floor moved, rose and seemed to take on human shape. Deep black robes with a hood shading the face revealed it to be a lone Death Eater. The figure bowed low to the altar then scuttled off into the dimness somewhere to its left.  
  
The glow of the plinth started to waver and distort; the sweet stench of the candles was overpowering. Harry felt his tenuous grip on the here and now begin to slip.  
  
"Harry! Harry!" Ginny's voice stabbed insistently into his consciousness. She sounded very far away. "Harry, this is no time to pass out! Concentrate on my voice - and sit down before you fall!"  
  
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Harry allowed his body to be guided away from the doorway into the shadows, felt himself pushed to his knees with gentle force. He took several breaths of fresher air and tried to coerce his swimming senses back into focus. Slowly, the nausea receded leaving in its place a strong sense of fear and shame. He looked up into Ginny's anxious eyes.  
  
"What happened?" Ginny asked quietly. Harry shook his head, unable to speak, and rose unsteadily to his feet.  
  
"Harry?" Hermione appeared at his side, her lovely face pale and worried. He expelled breath in a wordless sigh.  
  
"I'm okay now." Harry replied. "At least for the present."  
  
Harry tried to smile reassuringly, but the truth was he was beginning to wonder if he was out of his depth. The smile faded from his lips as he glimpsed movement through the doorway over Hermione's shoulder. The Death Eater had returned, but this time he was not alone; another figure preceded him, this one moving slowly and jerkily, as if it was sleepwalking.  
  
"Fred!" cried George, in a suddenly hoarse voice.  
  
As one, Harry and Ron leaped to grab him by the back of his robes, yanking him out of the doorway before he could give the game away. They stared, horrified, as Fred Weasley, obviously unconscious and motivated by the Mobilicorpus Charm, moved erratically towards the altar. The Death Eater then raised his wand and Fred floated horizontally into the air, coming to rest at the front of the altar table, just below the stone plinth.  
  
At this moment, the plinth itself blazed blood-red, pulsing with power; warped and diseased. Harry swallowed dryly as his stomach contents began once again to protest their current location. Something within the churning maelstrom began to take shape, something shadowy and half-formed, but growing more solid by the instant. The Death Eater laughed a high- pitched excited giggle and threw back his hood in exultation.  
  
"Wormtail!" muttered Harry, his eyes alight with anger and disgust. "I really believed I'd got him the last time we met. Well, I can always try again!"  
  
Abruptly, Harry left the safety of the doorway and moved silently into the temple, keeping to the shadows, well away from the altar. Ron and George padded after him, followed after some hesitation by Hermione and Ginny. Lee stayed by the door as rearguard, shepherding Markland, who looked as though his worst nightmares were being enacted before his very eyes.  
  
Harry approached the altar stealthily, his eyes fixed on Wormtail. He ducked behind a pillar and pointed his wand, whispering "Stupefy!" Wormtail crumpled oblivious to the floor. Abandoning secrecy, Harry sprang out before the altar, wand raised to strike, any number of powerful curses at the ready on the tip of his tongue. Then suddenly he froze. Harry Potter froze and faltered, his arm falling loosely to his side as he stared in horror at the object materialising on the stone plinth.  
  
Ginny frowned. What was the matter with Harry? Why didn't he strike? Whatever this thing could be, it was becoming more real by the second. He couldn't afford to delay much longer. She shielded her eyes against a blast of bright light, squinting as the thing now extruded a cage of revolving red lines joining smoothly into a lattice. Now that lattice was bending and stretching, becoming three-dimensional, rapidly gaining flesh and solidity. Still Harry had not moved. Ginny looked over at him and felt a cold wave of panic wash over her: He didn't know what to do!  
  
Harry felt himself break out into a cold sweat. He was as helpless as when he had been roped to a gravestone, watching the Dark Lord come to life before his very eyes. He knew this situation was not quite comparable; Voldemort was not resurrecting himself but forcing his way through from a parallel plane of existence. However, Harry stared and stared at the gradually strengthening form of his old enemy and could not think of a single thing to do to stop the process.  
  
Ginny Weasley had not practised formal magic for four long years. Her two exhibitions with the silver birch tree outside the temple had been largely instinctive, inspired firstly by an unwillingness to destroy wantonly, and secondly by the need to protect her friends and family. Her grasp of the art was so natural it was almost organic, as though she had been born with the knowledge as well as the ability. It was this intuitive side of her power that prompted her into action.  
  
Ginny stared around the temple with suddenly heightened perception. It was as though she was looking through the viewfinder of an infrared camera. Areas of dark magic glowed red. The brighter they glowed, the stronger they were, she realised. Her gaze was attracted and held by the brightest area of them all: the plinth itself. This was the key. If the plinth could be changed, eroded or destroyed, the process of materialisation could be halted or corrupted. It was that simple - so why couldn't Harry see it? She left Hermione's side and rushed over to where he stood in tortured indecision.  
  
"The plinth!" Ginny shouted in his ear, shaking his arm. "That's the gateway, the portal from the other world. Destroy it before he completes his transition!" Drawing out her wand, she pointed it.  
  
"Reducto!" Ginny cried. The curse bounced off harmlessly, demolishing part of the wall. She went to try again, when Harry grabbed her wrist.  
  
"You're right, Ginny. Of course you are!" Harry exclaimed. "But the Reductus curse won't be strong enough for this. I know what to do now. Stay here, I may need your help again."  
  
Raising his wand, Harry paused for a moment to gather his thoughts then he drew a strange design in the air, leaving a faint silvery trail. He began to intone, muttering alien words in a language unfamiliar to the others. Hermione shook her head wordlessly; even she did not recognise it. Twice Harry faltered. The second time he reached out a hand to grip Ginny's arm.  
  
Help me, Ginny! It's too strong for me to go it alone. I need your help.  
  
How can I help you, Harry? Just tell me.  
  
Join with me.  
  
How?  
  
Reach out. With your thoughts. Join with me.  
  
Ginny had no idea what was happening. Wizards could only supplement each other's power by the usual ways of combining spells. No one could use another wizard as a source of power - could they? Nevertheless, she reached out as he had asked her.  
  
Pain - searing agony! A whirling morass of red light . Ginny gasped, her hands flying to her head.  
  
I - can't do it.  
  
Ginny, please. I can't hold out much longer. Please - just try.  
  
Almost sobbing with anguish, Ginny closed her eyes and reached - and reached.  
  
.and abruptly felt the incredible mental presence of Harry Potter there with her, within her mind. The doors of her ears slammed shut. She reeled in shock at the immediate mental silence, like entering the eye of a hurricane.  
  
Don't be frightened, said Harry's essence to her panicking inner self. His voice sounded curiously dead, without resonance. We are together, melded but separate. We can beat him.  
  
Ginny listened and believed.  
  
Harry felt a rush of power surge through him as he continued to chant. His voice rose and fell, the syllables coming with increasing clarity and strength. He was casting the incantation for the third and final time now and its power was almost visible, distorting the outlines of the stone, blurring the edges of reality like a heat-haze in a desert. A sharp implosion thudded, a hot wind blew sand into his eyes. An instant of searingly bright light threw the bone structure of his face into sharp relief. Blinded by the glare, tears pouring down her cheeks, Ginny could see rivulets of sweat cutting white streaks through the dust on Harry's strained face. On and on went the slow, relentless intoning.  
  
As he neared the end of the incantation, Harry's voice rose in pitch. He raised his arms high above his head as if calling on the heavens for assistance. The crescendo of sound and magic reached its peak. Speaking the final words of the spell, he threw down his hands violently in completion.  
  
And the heavens answered.  
  
A tremendous explosion shook the very foundations of the temple, depositing everyone except Harry on to the ruined floor. Statues fell from the walls, dust and masonry rained down from the roof, and the stone floor rippled uncannily like the surface of a stream. The stone plinth split abruptly through its centre, falling into two halves, its polluted, diseased light instantly extinguished. An unearthly scream of rage and pain rang around the building, and the image on the altar dissolved into a cloud of ozone, fizzing and hissing as it dissipated. Harry stood still for a moment then slowly, wearily sank to his knees in exhaustion. Ginny scrambled to her feet and ran to him.  
  
"Harry!" Ginny took his grey face between her hands, noting the beads of sweat mingled with tears, the blood running from his scar. Harry looked up at her and raised a tired hand to cover one of hers.  
  
"The portal is closed," Harry said quietly. "For the present."  
  
"For the present?" asked Ron, also scrambling to his feet and extending a hand to help Hermione. Harry nodded mutely, then looked towards the altar where George was helping a dazed but very much alive Fred to stand up.  
  
"Thank Merlin," Harry murmured. "I couldn't be sure we'd ever see him again." He looked about him in puzzlement.  
  
"Where's Wormtail?"  
  
"I expect he transfigured and got away," Ron replied, shrugging regretfully. "We'll never find him out there in the dark." Harry sighed and leaned his head in his hands.  
  
"Have you any idea how long the gateway will remain closed?" asked Hermione, practical as usual. Harry shook his head.  
  
"He broke through it once, it won't take much for him to repeat the exercise," Harry sighed. "It drained a great deal of his power, though: it'll take him some time to recover."  
  
"He's not the only one who needs to recover," replied Hermione in a non- nonsense fashion, throwing a companionable arm around Harry's shoulder. "Harry, we need to get you back into the house - if you're not to pass out on us. Oh, the strength of that final incantation!" Her eyes widened in alarm as Harry sagged heavily against her, and Ron moved quickly to intercept them.  
  
"Both you and Fred need a good long sleep," Ron announced to Harry. "But after that, we need answers to an awful lot of questions."  
  
"Yes," said a new voice, flatly. They all paused, then reluctantly turned to look at David Markland. He was pale and so covered in dust that his dark hair looked almost grey. Only his eyes were slits of brightness. For someone who had recently witnessed a massive demonstration of a power he had not known existed until that evening, he seemed remarkably composed.  
  
"Yes," Markland repeated. "I think we all need to get out of here and back to some kind of sanity. And I also think I need to borrow your study, Hermione, if you don't mind: I believe that I too am entitled to some answers - am I not, Ginny?"  
  
Without waiting for confirmation, he turned towards the house, gesturing to Ginny to precede him. Ginny gave Hermione one rather frightened glance, then turned on her heel and marched off, her head held high: she was more than equal to whatever David Markland had in mind for her. Hermione sighed as she watched them go and shook her head silently.  
  
~oo0oo~  
  
Markland opened the door to Hermione's study to let Ginny through, closing it firmly behind him. Without asking for permission, he crossed over the drinks cabinet and poured himself a very large Scotch. Ginny noted that he didn't offer to help her to a drink, and quietly put together a moderate gin and tonic for herself. He drained half the contents of his glass in one go, then he sighed.  
  
"So, this is it then, is it?" Markland began. Ginny looked puzzled; he tried again. "This is what you are, this hocus pocus, jiggery pokery, abbra cadabra." She winced.  
  
"Please don't say that." It was Markland's turn to look blank.  
  
"It's a corruption of the - of the Killing Curse," Ginny explained, unhappily. "There's no countercurse, and no way to block it ."  
  
"That's exactly what I mean!" Markland thundered, suddenly. "All this - magic, this levitation, disappearing, strange red lights, stroboscopic effects. And all of you carrying little sticks of wood and waving them around - children's toys! God, why don't you dress the part - where's your pointed hat and your broomstick?" Ginny bit her lip.  
  
"We don't wear pointy hats any more, unless we're flying in very bad weather. I've been keeping my broomstick here, though - in the hall cupboard with Hermione's, George's and Harry's." Ginny took a sip of her drink and attempted a smile. "It's a Firebolt Original - almost as good as the Firebolt Mark II."  
  
Markland swore violently and slammed his glass down on the desk. In a moment, Hermione's best Waterford crystal had disintegrated into pieces. Without thinking, Ginny pulled out her wand muttering "Reparario!" The glass swiftly reassembled itself and sat innocently on the desk as though it had never been broken. Markland's trousers, however, were soaked with good Irish malt.  
  
"I'm sorry, David, I'm afraid you'll have to pour yourself another drink," Ginny said, her voice trembling. "I'm afraid I gave up my magical studies before I learned how to levitate liquids from carpet pile."  
  
Markland, who had been staring at the glass as though it would bite him, shook himself and shot a look of such venom at Ginny that she took an involuntary step backwards.  
  
"I want you to sit on that sofa," Markland said, in a low hiss, "and tell me about this, right from the beginning. No tricks, no demonstrations, just plain old-fashioned words. And I don't care how long it takes, or how difficult it is - I want to know everything!"  
  
Ginny paused for a moment, then shrugged slightly and complied. It was going to be a long night.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"I think he's just exhausted, there's no fever." Hermione put a hand on Harry's forehead: he did not so much as stir.  
  
"I'm not exactly surprised," added Ron, throwing several blankets over his friend and holding Harry's head as Hermione deftly put a pillow under it.  
  
"Harry's always something rather more than any of us," he continued. "Even you, Hermione. You couldn't have done what he did tonight." Hermione shook her head slowly.  
  
"It's not just You-Know-Who who'll need to recover spent energy," she said, thoughtfully. "Such an outpouring of raw power - and to sustain it for so long!"  
  
She shook her head in wonderment then frowned as something seemed to occur to her.  
  
"Speaking of spent energy, Ron," she began in a suspiciously neutral tone, "since when have you been able to cast a multiple Jellylegs curse?"  
  
Ron started slightly, caught unawares, and then smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.  
  
"Oh," Ron began offhandedly, "I learned any number of spells when I did my training for the Department. Must have been then."  
  
"Did you indeed?" Hermione replied, nodding gravely. "And did that training also include several different and, I might add, quite devastating fire spells? And Lancea glacies, more commonly known as the Pillar of Salt curse? And a medium-term body-armour charm with special protective characteristics against dark magic? And I suppose you just happened to have all of these complex spells and more ready to hand for rapid-fire use - just in case you happened to run into a powerful dark magician on one of your house calls?"  
  
Ron's would-be nonchalant expression changed to something much less assured. Shrugging helplessly, he started to speak then stopped, running an unsteady hand through his hair.  
  
"Ron," Hermione began meaningfully, "these are all specialist spells used routinely by Aurors only against Dark Wizards. Now tell me: since when does the Office for Improper use of Magic have need for spellcraft of that calibre?" She paused to glare at him. As he shook his head speechlessly, she let out a sigh of exhaustion.  
  
"I've had a gruelling evening, Ron," Hermione continued. "We all have. So don't annoy me any further, just spit it out. How is it that you know such advanced magic, where did you learn it and how come you are so practised at using it?"  
  
Ron expelled a breath he had not realised he had been holding. Hermione narrowed her eyes. He held up a hand defensively.  
  
"It certainly is a night for revelations," Ron muttered, then squared his shoulders and looked Hermione straight in the eye.  
  
"The Office for Improper Use of Magic is something of an umbrella, covering quite a lot of different functions," Ron began. "When I joined the Office, my family, and you, Hermione, all assumed I would be working with the Accidental Use of Magic Reversal Squads, and indeed I was for a while. But accidental magic is a very wide subject and covers a great deal that is marginal or may even be deliberate. Quite often, the squads themselves need protection when going out on a call. If HQ has suspicions about anything to do with a case, that's when I'm called in. One of my jobs is to firefight: to protect the squads from anything they might turn up on a case that could conceivably develop into something really nasty."  
  
"So you've had Auror-training then, I knew it! Why didn't you tell me, Ron?" Hermione demanded crossly. "I'm supposed to be your best friend. Since when do friends have secrets?"  
  
"It's not something I tend to noise around, Hermione." Ron shook his head helplessly. "At first, I wasn't sure I'd be accepted, even when I'd taken the training. And once I was given the job, I never seemed to find the right time to tell you. I'm sorry."  
  
"Why didn't I see it before?" Hermione said, more quietly. She felt her anger begin to dissipate. "I'd often wondered why you were on call so much. Squad members work regular shifts, not the odd hours you're on duty. And it also explains how you were able to afford that huge flat you live in. You're not renting it at all, are you? It's yours."  
  
"A special duty Auror is very well paid indeed compared to a squad member because of the unsocial hours and the dangerous nature of our work," Ron explained reluctantly. "We're really the first line of defence, you know: we're sent in to assess tricky situations and either contain them or call for back up. I've seen a lot over the last couple of years, I can tell you. I've encountered things that would make even Harry's hair curl!"  
  
"I look forward to hearing about it - soon." Hermione's voice was sharp but without any real animosity. She turned back to the unconscious Harry and tucked the blankets gently around his shoulders.  
  
"Why doesn't he wake?" Hermione whispered worriedly. Ron paused for a moment, then placed a careful hand over hers. She raised her eyes questioningly and he smiled.  
  
"He'll wake when he's ready," Ron replied quietly, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. "You know, Hermione," he continued in a matter of fact tone, although his face was serious. "In a way, Harry and You-Know-Who are equal and opposite forces - if the one didn't exist, the other wouldn't need to."  
  
"No, no!" Hermione shook her head vehemently. "Harry's not just - a nemesis for You-Know-Who, for goodness sake! He's a person in his own right, whom we all love very dearly. Have you forgotten what it was like at Hogwarts?"  
  
Hermione gripped Ron's fingers tightly, hardly aware of what she was doing. He rested a soothing hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I didn't mean that he had no other place in the world, 'Mione," Ron replied, more quietly, "just that they're the two greatest wizards, perhaps of all time. The difference is that Tom Riddle sacrificed his humanity for power. I think Harry would willingly give up his power if he could, and retire to a cattle ranch in North America."  
  
Hermione leaned wearily into his arm, enjoying the feeling of Ron - warm, solid and secure, an island of steadfastness in a world that right now seemed to offer very little in the way of stability. Somehow his recent deception seemed to matter very little in comparison to what they had all been through.  
  
"When you two can let a body get a word in edgewise," interrupted a hoarse voice, "one of the medical essentials to help combat the over-exertion of magical powers is fluids. I am so dry, the Sahara would seem like a wetland."  
  
Harry propped himself up on one elbow, staring irritably at his two friends, but his lips had curved into a small smile at the sight of them, and his green eyes were warm.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"Fred, you've been under an enchantment, you really do need to get some food and some rest!"  
  
George and Lee between them strong-armed Fred into an armchair while George forced a cup of strong tea down his throat. It was he who was speaking. Lee searched the kitchen for something to throw together to make a light meal.  
  
"I'm okay, lemme go - umph!" Fred was unimpressed. "Look, I've been under Imperius, okay, not Cruciatus. I don't want to be babied, I want to know what's been going on!"  
  
"You've lost at least a stone in weight," protested George, as Lee brought in a cheese and ham omelette, some salad he'd found in the fridge and a buttered roll. "And neither of us is going to tell you a thing until you've eaten everything on that plate, okay?"  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"So that's more or less all there is to it, really." Finishing her explanation, Ginny shrugged and went to refill her glass from the drinks cabinet. She was aware that her recital had been found wanting in more ways than she could mention.  
  
Having been born and brought up in a wizarding family, Ginny had taken so much for granted that blending into the Muggle world had been almost impossible. However, with Hermione's help and some useful tips from the twins, she had worked hard at carving out some kind of a niche with a fair degree of success, she had thought. However, being required to give an account of her life and a defence for her wizarding talents had turned out to be as difficult as it was unexpected. Markland was silent for a while, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed in a frown of concentration. When he finally did begin talking, it was so quiet that she almost missed the first few words.  
  
"So what you're saying is that magic has always been a reality to you," Markland began. "You never had your childhood dreams about flying carpets, magic wands and devastating spells, dashed to the ground once adolescence kicked in, like most kids do. Most Muggle kids, that is. You merely had to wait until you were old enough to learn how to use the power, old enough to go to a special school for the purpose. Yes, that sounds reasonable. And then when you graduated, what made you go into music?"  
  
Ginny shook her head.  
  
"I don't know. I'd always been able to sing, and I'd never really had any desire to pursue any one area of magic. I decided to coast along for a while until I found what I really wanted to do. Then - then I met you." Ginny fell silent. Markland was nodding gently then he raised his eyes and fixed them on hers.  
  
"And you lied to me." Markland stated flatly. Ginny stared.  
  
"Wh-what do you mean?"  
  
"Oh, come on, Ginny! What do you think I mean? I'm a reasonable man, fairly sane, slightly fiery temperament, but tolerably intelligent and open- minded. I'm living my life as I usually do - working hard, worrying about the business, eating, sleeping, etc. etc. when suddenly I discover that the girl I have been living with for three years is a witch."  
  
A dreadful silence followed this bald statement. Ginny couldn't argue with him - for the life of her, she couldn't find anything to say in reply. Markland continued.  
  
"Yes, a witch. And not just some weird tree-worshipping crackpot either, oh, no. My girl just happens to be a very powerful sorceress, yes, sir, up there with the best of them. Using nothing more substantial than a thin piece of wood, she wrenched an entire twenty-foot birch tree out of the ground and threw it at a bunch of - well, can I call them bad guys? I still have no real idea what happened out there in the garden, all I know is that it was one of the scariest things I have ever seen in my life."  
  
"I've tried to explain about, well, You-Know-Who and about the danger to the Muggle world as well as to wizards." Ginny protested. Markland shook his head confusedly.  
  
"Look, that's just the trouble, isn't it? Muggles and wizards. How can we possibly even co-operate together?" Markland complained. "Right now I feel resentful and betrayed, but that isn't the half of it, oh, no. Mostly I feel - jealous. Yes, that's right: blindingly jealous that it was you who was born with these talents and not me. And there's not a thing I can do about it, not even if I live till I'm one hundred." He paused and placed his now empty, mended glass quietly on the desk, surveying it interestedly.  
  
"That really is a first-class job, you know." Markland glanced up at her. "Cut glass is notoriously difficult to repair well." Ginny stared at him as he continued to peruse the Waterford.  
  
"So - what's going to happen?" Ginny's voice was uncertain.  
  
"Well, surely that's for you to tell me, isn't it?" Markland looked up at her. "I mean, this You-Know-Who chap wasn't defeated, was he? At least, Harry didn't think so, and he's your great white leader, isn't he?"  
  
"David, please!"  
  
"Okay, Ginny; what do you want to know?"  
  
"Well, what about us? How is this going to affect what's between us?"  
  
There was a horrible, pregnant silence.  
  
"I'm sorry, I thought that was obvious." Markland's voice was very low, and he refused to look at her. "If I have to spell it out then I will: Ginny, it's over, finished. You can have as long as you like to find somewhere else to live, I'll move in with a colleague while you sort your life out, but I won't change my mind on this. You lied to me. You represented yourself as something quite different from what you are, and we've been living a sham the whole time. I'll carry on representing you professionally, of course, if that's what you want, but that's really all I can do. I'm sorry. Goodbye, Ginny."  
  
Markland got up to leave the room. Ginny could hardly speak past the lump in her throat, past the unshed tears which were threatening to choke her at any moment, but she had to be a responsible witch - she couldn't afford another Improper Use of Magic Notice.  
  
"David," Ginny said, quietly, "you can't go, not like this."  
  
"Ginny, please don't make this any more difficult than it already is." Markland sighed.  
  
"No, David, I'm not trying to make you change your mind." Ginny replied, shaking her head. "If I thought it would make any difference, I would plead until the milk turns sour ."  
  
"What?" Markland frowned, "What's milk got to do with it?"  
  
"It's just a wizard saying, David," Ginny ventured nervously, fiddling with her hair. "A bit like 'until the cows come home', I suppose." He growled softly through his teeth.  
  
"I really can't imagine how I didn't spot it." Markland was obviously kicking himself. "You're just so - different from everyone else I know."  
  
"David, if we're not going to be together any longer, I can't let you leave here with the knowledge I've just given you." Ginny tried again. Markland paused in confusion.  
  
"Run that by me again, will you?"  
  
"We aren't allowed to let Muggles know about us, except in very special circumstances, of course."  
  
"I see. But you've just broken that rule by telling me everything. And now I'm just going to walk out of that door and you can't do a thing about it. What's likely to happen then? A fine? A prison sentence?"  
  
"I could be fined." Ginny told him seriously. "If I keep doing it, I'll have my licence revoked, my wand snapped in two. But it won't stop me being a witch, it'll just make me very unhappy."  
  
"This is unreal." Markland was completely perplexed. "So what happens now? Do you lock me up and throw away the key?"  
  
"No, David, but you have to have your memory - altered." There was a long pause.  
  
"Are you out of your mind?" Markland was speaking quietly, but Ginny realised he was now extremely angry. "If you think I'm going to submit to you or anyone else monkeying around with my memory, you're nuts!"  
  
"You really don't have any choice, you know."  
  
"Oh, yes I do!" Markland was shouting now. "All I have to do is walk out of that door, and you just try and stop me! Goodbye, Ginny."  
  
Tears rolled silently down Ginny's cheeks as she watched him stride towards the door and fling it open. She fingered her wand gently and whispered "Goodbye, David" before pointing it carefully at his departing figure.  
  
"Obliviate!" Ginny muttered, and a thin stream of golden light shot out of the tip, wrapping itself around David's head. He staggered, regained his footing then leaned against the doorframe. She ran to him.  
  
"Are you alright?" Ginny seized his arm reflexively.  
  
"Funny turn, felt faint." Markland said slowly. He looked at Ginny's anxious face and his expression softened.  
  
"Hey! What's this? Tears?" He raised a hand to stroke her hair gently.  
  
"Don't cry, Ginny." Markland smiled sadly. "We can still work together. I hope we will. We really should stay friends, you know, we just can't - be a couple any more. I won't make any trouble about the flat - you can stay as long as it takes. Well, see you in the morning - my word it's late! If I'm going to get to Albert's place at a halfway decent hour, I'd better get moving."  
  
Markland kissed Ginny's cheek almost in benediction and hurried off to the front door. Moments later she heard it slam and the sound of his quick footsteps down the front path. Ginny leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. When she finally opened them, it was to find Hermione looking at her anxiously. She had, to her total embarrassment, involuntarily slid down the wall until she was curled in the foetal position. Stiffly, she unrolled herself, and her wand fell to the floor with a clatter.  
  
"Memory charm?" Hermione asked, eyeing it.  
  
"We're through." Ginny said, briefly, rising uncomfortably to her feet. Hermione winced.  
  
"I thought it might happen - especially after tonight. Ginny, it takes a very strong person, with a very deep imagination, to come through what David saw tonight and not freak out." Hermione's eyes were soft with sympathy as she spoke.  
  
"It's been coming for ages, I just didn't want to see it." Ginny's voice cracked, partly with emotion, partly fatigue. Becoming suddenly aware that while Hermione was in her dressing gown, clean and showered, Ginny's own clothes were black and sooty, and there were white tear streaks down her face, she wearily made her way out of the study.  
  
"I need to change and shower - and then I need some space and sleep." Ginny commented in a practical tone. "How's Harry?"  
  
"Refusing to rest, as usual," Hermione replied with a smile. "He asked after you - I said you were occupied."  
  
"I'll leave him to you then, Hermione," Ginny yawned. "Right now I'd rather not see anyone, least of all Harry." Gathering up her bag and coat, she walked out of the room.  
  
"Tell him I'll talk to him tomorrow. I've got a lot to think about." Wearily, Ginny put on her coat and walked the few minutes to the flat.  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	6. Chapter Six A New Beginning

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
Chapter Six - A New Beginning  
Harry put down his copy of the Daily Prophet with a sigh, noting that his cup of coffee was stone cold. For the second time. He was about to use a heating charm on it again, when it occurred to him that the house was extremely quiet. Too quiet for a Saturday, particularly when he himself was gathering dust in Hermione's study.  
  
The events of the previous weekend had been almost too much, but like the children they no longer were, the gang had bounced back. Fred had moved into his old room and place in Harry's House as though he'd never been away, George had gone home to Ron's flat, and Hermione had continued slaving as though there was no tomorrow during working hours and collaborating with Lee when off-duty. Ron had taken a few days leave to assist Harry in his research on the cup they had taken from the temple.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
On returning to the World Wizarding Library, Ron and Harry had entertained the vague hope of finding Professor Radcliffe still there. On enquiry of Reception, it appeared he had returned to Florence to write up his notes and was not expected back for several weeks. Undaunted, the two wizards tackled the catalogue themselves for information on the Holy Grail, but they found little of any help.  
  
Ron took a breath, pointing at a passage in a huge leather-bound book. "Look, it says here: 'Holy Grail, The: artefact, believed to be magical, beloved by several pagan Muggle religions during the Dark Ages in England. Close association with the Muggle King, Arthur. Once the property of Merlin (unsubstantiated), it was recovered by the knight Sir Galahad, the only Knight of the Round Table (the entourage of King Arthur) who was pure in body and spirit and therefore worthy to handle it.' Does that mean I'm pure in body and spirit, since I'm the one who took it out of the temple?"  
  
"That sounds about as useful as the stuff I'm reading here," laughed Harry. "Listen: 'The Holy Grail is believed to have been another name for the Cauldron of Ceridwyn, a magical artefact with no physical substance, which could be summoned under certain circumstances to give healing, well-being and great joy to all who desired it.'"  
  
"Harry, what makes you so sure that what we've got is the Holy Grail?" Ron was frowning. "We can't find out anything about it - it could be any old chalice."  
  
"I strongly suspect that it is the Holy Grail, Ron, for several reasons." Harry paused, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "Firstly, it is without doubt a very powerful magical artefact, one of the most powerful I have ever encountered. Its aura alone, when it's not stifled in your pocket, Ron, is really quite disturbing in its intensity.  
  
"Secondly," Harry scratched his head and gave a perplexed smile, "I can't identify it as anything else, and my speciality is just this sort of thing. Thirdly, putting numbers one and two together, the chances of something as powerful as this being totally unheard of are very slim, and from all we can find out, the Holy Grail is the only possible match. Fourthly, well I just feel it in my gut."  
  
"So, if you're honest, you really have very little to go on, apart from intuition?" Ron smiled sympathetically as he spoke.  
  
"That's about the size of it, Ron," Harry sighed. "There are simply no hard facts. I think we're going to have to go to Florence you know - to tackle the Professor."  
  
"Better take Hermione then," Ron said, drily. "My guess is she'll get more out of him than anyone else!"  
  
Nevertheless, Ron and Harry kept their noses to the grindstone for the rest of the week, and had precious little to show for it by the weekend. It was like old times back in the Hogwarts library. But inwardly, Harry knew that the battle with Voldemort had taken more out of him than he cared to remember, and time spent quietly researching was also recovery time.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Harry brooded darkly and in silence. One of the worst things he had ever had to do in his life was tell his friends the bitter truth about Voldemort. He would never forget Hermione's look of hurt betrayal or Ron's ashen-faced dread. Harry hated himself and cursed whatever malign fates there were for consigning him to such terrible times. It was indeed Voldemort who had attempted to materialise on the stone plinth, his faithful servant Wormtail waiting to welcome him, his ranks of Deatheaters ready to protect him. Harry and Ginny's prompt action had thwarted him this time around, but Harry seriously doubted whether Voldemort could be despatched in the same manner again.  
  
Harry stretched, wincing as he activated muscles that were still sore, and got up to pace around the study like a restless panther. At least Fred had been very little affected by his period of incarceration with Voldemort. Most prisoners of the dark side were badly treated, Alastor Moody being a prime example, but Fred seemed to have been reasonably well looked-after, at least physically. He had been held under Imperius for most of the time and his mind had wandered, but aside from that, he had come out of a dangerous situation remarkably unscathed.  
  
So far, Harry had carefully refrained from public speculation as to why Fred had been kept in such good condition, but the other man was not in Ministry Intelligence for nothing. In his usual abrupt style, Fred came upon Harry alone in the kitchen early one morning and stated his conclusion entirely without preamble.  
  
"He was going to use me as a host body, wasn't he? Voldemort, I mean." Fred's voice was remarkably calm. Harry stared for a moment, then carefully swallowed his mouthful of coffee and placed the mug down on the table.  
  
"I think that was his intention, yes," Harry replied, seriously. "I believe complete physical materialisation on this plane would use up too much of his power to be effective. Total possession of your body, plus access to your own powers, knowledge and memories would be more than sufficient for his purposes. My guess is he'd be able to fight off anything we could throw at him."  
  
Fred nodded, pursing his lips in a serious manner.  
  
"Is he likely to try again?"  
  
"Yes, Fred," Harry replied simply. "I think it very likely that he will try again. Very likely indeed."  
  
Returning to the present, Harry shook his head, trying to fit the pieces of information together. In addition to all this, there was also the matter of Hermione's research on the stone with Professor Radcliffe. That had been a real facer.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
It was several days before Harry could persuade Hermione that he was strong enough to cope with what she had discovered. Unable to snatch even a glimpse of her notes, he fumed in silent frustration, haunting her study until she could stand it no more.  
  
"Alright, I'll tell you. Just let me get the others together first!" Hermione took her hands out of her hair and glared at the bespectacled face peering hopefully around her study door. "I can see I'm not going to get this Opinion finished until I come clean. Ginny's off house-hunting this afternoon, so I'll have to tell her about it later. Honestly, Harry, you can be a right pain at times!"  
  
Ginning disarmingly, Harry resisted the temptation to cheer loudly and dance around the room. He was less than enthusiastic, however, when he found himself unwillingly ensconced on an overstuffed sofa twiddling his thumbs while the others perched on chairs around him and Hermione lectured them on ancient Aramaic.  
  
"It's not a very idiomatic translation," Hermione said finally, shuffling her pages around, "but it's as accurate as the Professor reckoned we could get. It seems to be some kind of - revelation: a prediction or forecast. Anyway, it goes like this."  
  
She cleared her throat.  
  
"'When the dead one returns to claim his own, the living boy and the .. ' well, the nearest we could get was 'dryad' or 'spirit of nature' 'must unite in care, and take the cup of plenty from the hands of the pure one to return it to its rightful place.' That's not exact, and there are a number of anomalies, but I think it's good enough to be getting on with."  
  
"'The Living Boy,'" mused Ron, rubbing a finger pensively down the side of his nose. "Do you think that might be 'The Boy Who Lived'?"  
  
The others smiled at the old name coined for Harry when he was a baby. Hermione chuckled.  
  
"It sounds rather likely, doesn't it?" she replied, as though this had already occurred to her, "And "the dead one" is therefore going to be You- Know-Who, but what about the dryad, or spirit of nature?"  
  
"Aren't dryads something to do with trees?" put in Lee, tentatively. Hermione nodded.  
  
"Yes that's right," she said. "In Muggle mythology, the spirits of trees were depicted as beautiful young maidens. They could leave their trees for a limited amount of time, and were sometimes quite mischievous, leading young men astray and getting them hopelessly lost in deep forest."  
  
"Hang on a mo'," George shifted restlessly in his chair. "I don't want to put a damper on your enthusiasm or anything, but who's to say this revelation, or whatever it is, has anything at all to do with us? For all we know, it might already have come to pass. That is, if it's genuine in the first place."  
  
"That's a very good point, George," replied Harry quickly, before anyone else could jump in. "However, I anticipated someone would ask just that question, so I got Ron to do some research for me in Ministry archives, in the Prophesies Section."  
  
"Yes," Ron pulled a lugubrious face. "And a fun afternoon that was, I can tell you! Well, according to Ministry Records, not only has this prophecy (if that's what it is) not yet been fulfilled, it has never even been recorded. In other words, no one's ever seen it before; this is its first appearance." There was a pause as the group digested the information.  
  
"So what you're saying," put in Lee slowly, "is that as far as we know, if this prophecy has neither been fulfilled nor recorded in any way, it must be genuine. Is that about right?"  
  
"If you care to put it that way, Lee, yes, I suppose it is." Harry was amused. "Although I wouldn't like to put money on it until it's been verified by experts."  
  
"Pshaw!" Hermione made a rude noise. "By 'experts' I suppose you mean that charlatan, Trelawney. Frankly, I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw a manticore!"  
  
"What about the 'cup of plenty'?" Ron interjected quickly to forestall any further ranting.  
  
"Oh, that's obvious," scoffed Fred. "It's that grail thing you've got in your pocket, Ron; the thing you won't let out of your sight; the thing we've all been gassing about ever since you found it. Wake up! Even if it isn't the Holy Grail, it's got to be the cup mentioned in this prophesy lark. After all, the stone led you to it, didn't it?"  
  
They all agreed that Fred was most likely right.  
  
"In fact," added Harry, seriously, "the appearance of the cup in response to the stone's summoning power is one of the major pieces of evidence for the validity of this prophecy. Prophecies are strange things. Sometimes they can hang around for centuries in plain sight until they're almost forgotten, and people only realise they've been fulfilled in retrospect. Others emerge from the depths of history at the eleventh hour and seem to serve no useful purpose whatsoever apart from to confirm what's already happening."  
  
"In other words, they're about as useful as yesterday's Daily Prophet," Fred replied ironically. "Is that what you're saying?"  
  
"I'll second that!" added Hermione, above the general laughter, eyes flashing dangerously.  
  
"What about the pure one?" Lee asked, looking around at the others. Blank faces greeted him. Harry raised a hand.  
  
"Ron and I found out that during the reign of the Muggle English King Arthur, during the Dark Ages, the Holy Grail was recovered by a knight called Galahad," Harry told them. "He was apparently the only one of Arthur's knights who was pure enough in body and spirit to take the cup and bear it back to Camelot, where it was used to heal Arthur of the wounds he had received from his half-sister, Morgan le Fey. Also, the same idea of purity and healing crops up in the German legend of the Perfect Fool or Parsifal."  
  
"But who can it refer to in our present time?" asked Hermione. Fred gave a mocking laugh at Harry's bewildered shrug.  
  
"Well, I'm afraid none of us here is exactly innocent in spirit," Fred put in, sardonically, "and as for bodily purity - well, I think we all gave up on that one a long time ago. Unless Ron's holding out on us, of course. What about it, Ronnie-boy?"  
  
"Shut it, Fred," Ron growled, his ears turning red. Fred's grin widened as he noticed Hermione's eyes slide away.  
  
"I think you may be barking up the wrong tree, Fred," said Harry, adroitly interrupting him. "I don't think we're talking purity as in virginity, or even innocence of mind here. If the prophecy is as old as Professor Radcliffe seems to think it is, then I think it means morality in the wider sense: decency, honour, integrity and honesty of motive. The putting of the greater good before personal well-being, if you follow me."  
  
"What does it mean to 'unite in care'?" asked George. Hermione frowned over her notes.  
  
"Well, that's a rather moot question actually," she admitted. "There are several meanings to that particular figure, and 'care' seemed the most appropriate translation, but it really depends on the overall meaning of the prophecy which way it could swing." There was a pause. No one seemed to have anything more to add.  
  
"It doesn't look as though we're going to shed any further light on this thing tonight," Harry said presently. "Let's sleep on it and see what we come up with."  
  
But after several nights' fitful rest, Harry himself was no further forward  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Harry paused in his pacing by the window and gazed unseeingly into the garden. He needed to go through all this with someone completely fresh and objective, he told himself. To his surprise, he found he wanted Ginny, but he hadn't seen anything of her since the previous weekend.  
  
Harry sighed and, suddenly making a decision, he strode across the room and flung open the door. Padding out into the corridor, he went in search of anyone who felt like another cup of coffee, but tracking down prospective company proved less than easy. The kitchen was empty; so was the drawing room, the dining room, the West Room, the library, the guest bathrooms, the utility and, so far as he could guess, the cellars, the attics and the garden. Mystified, he moved to the unfinished west wing where his own bedroom and bathroom were situated and was rewarded by the faint noise of activity and muted conversation. He followed these sounds and emerged into a large, bright room, the existence of which, until then, he had been almost totally unaware.  
  
Hermione was at the top of a stepladder. She was wearing scruffy paint- stained overalls, and her rich brown hair was carelessly piled on top of her head so that several strands were hanging over her face. She grinned broadly.  
  
"Hi, Harry. Come to give us a hand?"  
  
Harry returned her smile.  
  
"Certainly - if you tell me what you're doing."  
  
"Redecorating, mate, what does it look like?" answered someone nearer the floor.  
  
The other voice, Harry noticed, belonged to Fred who, equally dishevelled, was making passes with his wand over several buckets of water. Harry paused to glance around the room. It had a very pleasant aspect, looking out over the overgrown garden, with huge sash windows and French doors leading on to a balcony. He nodded at a further door over to one side.  
  
"What's in there?" Harry asked curiously.  
  
"Bathroom," replied Fred, shortly. "Or, rather, will be when we've built it."  
  
Harry crossed the room and opened the door to the potential ensuite. Fred was right: it certainly needed some work, but the basics were all there. Closing the door thoughtfully, Harry went back to the entrance, intending to go change into some less important clothes. He was struck by a sudden thought.  
  
"Hermione, who is this bedroom for?" Harry looked up questioningly at the girl on the ladder. Hermione stopped washing down the walls and exchanged a swift glance with Fred.  
  
"No one, really," Fred answered for her, with a disarming grin. "Just part of the general renovation." Harry came back into the room and pointed a finger at Fred.  
  
"The truth, Weasley - or you're toast!"  
  
Fred shrugged in defeat and opened his mouth, but Hermione interrupted. She was about to speak, then seemed to change her mind. She stared at Harry critically, with narrowed eyes.  
  
"Harry, you're dark again." Hermione pointed a finger accusingly. "When did that happen?"  
  
Harry ran a hand shyly through his thick hair, fighting against embarrassment.  
  
"Oh, it was you girls really," Harry said with a disarming grin. "I didn't particularly notice, everyone's sun-bleached in California, but you seemed so shocked I thought I'd, well, repair the damage, that's all. And stop trying to change the subject!"  
  
If Harry were to be totally truthful, he would have to admit that Ginny's opinion the previous weekend had really tipped the balance. But he would cheerfully swallow glass shards before confessing such a thing to his housemates. Hermione made a sour face and turned back to the subject in question.  
  
"It's my fault, Harry, but you know you always intended your house to be full of your old friends, so I don't feel too guilty about it."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"And it's not as if you'd need references for her. After all, she's family."  
  
"She? Hermione, just who are we talking about?"  
  
"And it could be said that - well, really, you, Harry, are to blame for making her homeless."  
  
"Hermione," Harry took hold of the stepladder. "Start talking sense, or I will shake this ladder until you do. Whom have I made homeless?"  
  
"It's Ginny," explained Fred, when Hermione's nerve failed her. "You know she's been living with that Muggle guy who was here that night when the temple went boom. Well, they've been together three years, and he knew nothing about magic. Had no idea she was a witch - can you imagine?" Fred was shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
"She's got to move out of the flat, Harry: the lease is in David's name." Hermione took up the tale. "She's really cut up about the split, and I felt she'd be better among friends than trying to find somewhere on her own."  
  
Hermione stared at him anxiously, trying to gauge his opinion and, finding no appreciable reaction, launched herself into unplanned explanations.  
  
"This guy has been really bad for her. Did you know he's her agent as well as her ex-boyfriend? Well, she's been trying to live all this time without using magic - can you believe it? Pretending she's a Muggle, for Merlin's sake, just to keep that preppy idiot happy, and now the cat's out of the bag, he's dumped her." Harry's expression darkened.  
  
"Harry, please say something." Hermione was really apprehensive now. "I was so sure you'd be happy for Ginny to come and live here ."  
  
"Eh? What?"  
  
Harry seemed to return to earth, and his face cleared.  
  
"Of course I don't mind. Why on earth did you think I would?" Harry replied in surprise. "Just because my name's on the deeds of this mausoleum doesn't mean I'm the only one who calls the shots around here, you know. I'd be absolutely delighted for Ginny to come live here. Couldn't think of anywhere better." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I was just wondering - about her magical talents, I mean. If she hasn't been using them to any great extent for three years, she's probably going to need some help from the rest of us to get back to her former level. From the events of last weekend, I'd say that none of her raw power has gone, but she must have forgotten a great deal of what we learned at school."  
  
"We can do that!" smiled Hermione, continuing to wield her sponge with renewed vigour. "We can do anything!"  
  
"Except devise a charm to wash down walls, so it seems!" Harry was amused.  
  
"Okay, wiseass: you think of one!" Fred frowned. Harry backed off, hands held in front of him, shaking his head.  
  
"I think I'll just see what can be done with the bathroom."  
  
"Coward!"  
  
Later that afternoon, the trio surveyed the results of their labours with true satisfaction. Walls in a pale eggshell blue with white gloss skirting, bare sanded floorboards, Chinese rugs and a quilt matching the curtains; it looked cool, light and airy. The curtain material was Hermione's own design. However, as she said, it was no trouble to change the colour scheme, in fact, it might give Ginny some well needed practice.  
  
Harry's domain, the ensuite bathroom, required a longer look. Originally a dressing room and therefore not exactly huge, Harry had managed to squeeze into it not only a shower cubicle but a corner bath so luxuriously large that it resembled nothing so much as a small swimming pool. The smooth grey marble floor and the pale rose colour-scheme made the overall effect nothing short of beautiful.  
  
"Harry, I didn't know you had it in you - she'll love it!" Hermione was absolutely entranced, turning round and round, gazing at the room until Harry went pink with embarrassment.  
  
"Well, like you said," Harry mumbled, "she can always change the colour scheme if she doesn't like it."  
  
"Just one thing." Hermione's brow creased slightly. "The windows are enormous. I know she's not going to be overlooked from the road but, well, this is a wizarding house and people do arrive on broomsticks fairly frequently. Much as I hate the things, I really would put at least half- nets at the windows." Harry shrugged.  
  
"She could always use an opacity charm. I know a good one which makes the windows let in light, but you can't see in from outside. I don't want to do any more now, I'll ask her later if she wants to use it."  
  
It was early evening before Ginny arrived in a taxi containing all her worldly goods. As Fred and George made trips to and from the car, piling her cases and boxes in her new room, Ginny herself stood rather forlornly in the hall, clutching a cardboard box containing some books, an old set of scales and a full set of Gryffindor Quidditch robes. Seeing she was close to tears, Harry slid a gentle arm round her and pulled her head onto his shoulder.  
  
"It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured. "You're moving house - that's a bit of a wrench under any circumstances, but you've got the added heartache of leaving a relationship as well as a place. You're allowed to be sad, you're even allowed to cry if you want to!"  
  
Ginny smothered a sob in Harry's shirt, but gamely rubbed the tears away with her fists: a curiously endearing, childlike gesture.  
  
"I've cried a river already, as the song goes," she told him. "I knew it couldn't last forever, but I refused to admit it. Now I've got to make my own way." He squeezed her shoulders.  
  
"We'll help you." Pausing to peck her briefly on the cheek, Harry released her and went to supervise Fred and George with the rest of the removals.  
  
Ginny's reaction on seeing her room for the first time was everything Hermione could have wished. The cardboard box slipped from her nerveless hands as she stared around her with delight.  
  
"Oh, Hermione, it's just beautiful!" she whispered, running to the window to look out over the garden, then back to admire the paintwork and the new bedcover.  
  
"You can always change anything you don't like," volunteered Fred. "We won't be offended or anything. We'll just make you do it the Muggle way!"  
  
"Just you go and see what Harry's been doing this afternoon," Hermione smiled, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bathroom door. Ginny peered into the room and gasped in amazement. She moved around turning on the taps, exclaiming at the size of the bath, demurely casting an opacity charm of her own on the window. Then she turned to them all with tears in her eyes.  
  
"Oh thank you!" she sobbed, leaning on Hermione's shoulder. "I don't know what else to say, just - thank you!" Harry felt the lump in his throat begin to ease a little.  
  
Fred and George had volunteered to produce a celebration supper for Ginny's arrival at Harry's House. As it happened, both Ron and Lee turned up later, on spec, but were immediately invited to stay in return for a trip to the local off-licence. This event left the communal wine cellar a good deal better off than it had been for years.  
  
Early on, Hermione retired diffidently to the kitchen in an attempt to restore some order to the proceedings, but Ron eventually plied her with so much good red wine that Fred and George were allowed their head. As it happened, they produced an extremely passable pasta with chicken and wine sauce, followed by fruit salad in champagne (the bubbles disappeared very quickly, so Harry used an enchantment to keep it sparkling until it was eaten).  
  
Many evenings spent in congenial company result in a pleasant feeling of wellbeing, of all's right with the world. Of contentment, if you like. Some occasions go a little further, into the realms of genuine happiness. And one or two, the really memorable ones, have everyone so high on good humour it seems that nothing can ever go wrong again.  
  
The gang had not really partied since long before Harry's return.  
  
The food was a mere memory and the stack of empty wine bottles grew steadily towards the ceiling. Several silly party games were suggested and played amidst increasingly hysterical laughter. When they could finally stand no more rounds of "Truth or Dare" or "Post Owl's Knock", Fred went upstairs to fetch his eclectic anthology of dance music. Soon the "Weird Sisters" were shaking the walls of Harry's House, intermittently drowned by George's guffaws of laughter as he and Lee examined Fred's collection.  
  
"Hey!" shouted Lee, furiously waving a CD. "This is a karaoke disc - where did you get that?"  
  
"So that's where it got to!" exclaimed Hermione, who was dancing contentedly with Ron. "I asked Ginny to get it from Wizarding Radio. It's great, but I still can't sing, whatever she says!"  
  
Lee stuffed the disc into the machine. The sultry tones of a saxophone floated into the room, lazily accompanied by a muted double-bass, brushes and a liquid piano.  
  
"Oh, man!" murmured Fred, stretching out in one of the armchairs. "This is real late-night music!"  
  
Ron took the opportunity to draw Hermione against his chest so that her head fell naturally on to his shoulder. Unprotesting, she swayed in his arms to the music, her eyes closed.  
  
Harry sat in an armchair, silently enjoying the atmosphere, taking the occasional sip at his glass of wine. Unlike everyone else, he had drunk very little and his appearance of relaxation was just that - an appearance. Inside, Harry Potter was one very worried wizard.  
  
Much of the information he had absorbed over the past few days had at first gone over his head. He had been bone-weary after the confrontation with Voldemort, wounded and aching in body and spirit, and his deductive powers had taken a vacation. His hurts, both physical and mental, had healed leaving his body in need of exercise and his brain on overdrive. Somehow he couldn't seem to take his mind off the hook, no matter how hard he tried. He kept making connections, possible scenarios seemed to fly ahead into the distance, 'what ifs' haunted his every waking moment.  
  
Harry glanced towards a small figure sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, playing absently with her wine glass. By contrast, Ginny had drunk everything emptied into her glass, determined to thoroughly drown her sorrows. What she didn't know was that Harry had charmed out most of the alcohol and replaced it with a relaxing charm that made her sleepy, but without the threat of a hangover. The languorous saxophone tones changed into a recognisable jazz classic. Outwardly serene but still raw inside, Ginny started to sing.  
  
"Stormy Weather" was one of the numbers Harry had heard at Ginny's gig last weekend, and he admired the way she had adapted an old and well-tried number to her own style, fresh and clean and melodious. But her singing of the same song now was quite different. Previously, he had appreciated the purity of her tone, the cleverness of her variation on the melody and her unerring sense of pitch and rhythm. Now, her voice harsh from crying, the real heartache of the song came through, the pain and the loneliness. Harry felt his eyes mist over, and glanced round to see if any of the others were listening.  
  
Fred and George were both dozing, tumbled bonelessly in armchairs. Hermione and Ron had finally collapsed on to the sofa Lee was occupying. Hermione seemed to be falling asleep, until Ron poked her unceremoniously in the ribs. She made a face at him, took a sip of wine and leaned back casually against his shoulder, eyes closing irresistibly. Ron affectionately ruffled her hair before burrowing his way deeper into the sofa cushions. He gave a deep sigh of contentment and closed his eyes. Harry smiled. It was good to see those two getting along again.  
  
The CD came to an end, the music stopped and all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock. Ginny's head drooped and her shoulders sagged as she lost the battle against the sleep that had eluded her for many weeks. Harry looked at the deep shadows under her eyes and decided that it was probably quite some time since Ginny had had a proper night's rest. Placing his glass carefully on the coffee table, Harry slid an arm round her shoulders and another under her knees. Taking care not to disturb her slumber, he lifted her against his chest, raising his eyebrows at her lightness, and carried her up the sweeping staircase into the West Wing and her new bedroom. He left her tucked up under the new bedcover, having removed only her shoes for comfort, coming back downstairs to strengthen the magical wards protecting the entry/exit points of the house.  
  
Harry was not entirely sure why he chose to make a domestic check at this time, but when he had finished he was very glad he had done so: several of the wards were weak, and the one on the vulnerable garden door had faded away altogether. Grimly, he made a mental note to bawl George out for that in the morning. He made his way towards his bedroom, pausing only to peer curiously back into the West Room.  
  
The twins were still out for the count, and Lee, Ron and Hermione were sound asleep, tangled together on the large sofa. Ron's arms were around Hermione's waist as she leaned against his chest, Lee's head cradled in her lap. Harry smiled, lowered the lights with a gesture and closed the door softly.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
They were back in the temple, that - thing was materialising on the altar, the weird red light was beginning to engulf them all. Harry rose dizzily to his feet. A beam of silver frost had sprung from the end of his wand, encircling the figure, holding the sickly red light contained, and he had begun the Incantation. Strong magic was pulsing through the air, the thing on the pedestal gave an unearthly scream and flickered, writhing, in and out of existence. Suddenly, she froze in horror as it turned its face straight towards her: it was David.  
  
Ginny awoke with cold sweat trickling down her face and leaped out of bed, instinctively reaching for her wand.  
  
"Lumos!" Ginny all but shrieked as the room came into focus: still half- dreaming, she reeled into immediate panic at the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Heart beating loudly enough to rouse the entire house, she sprinted to the door and stepped out into the corridor, breathing heavily and unevenly: still nothing made sense. She was about to continue down the corridor in search of a staircase, when someone turned on the electric light. Ginny whirled, terrified, bringing her wand reflexively in front of her face then sagged with relief as she saw that it was only Harry.  
  
Harry had obviously been sleeping; his wayward dark hair was on end, and a hastily fastened towelling bathrobe covered his modesty, but for all that his eyes were cool and alert and his stance was anything but sluggish.  
  
"Great Merlin! You startled me," Ginny burst out, all but collapsing on the floor.  
  
"I could say the same," Harry shrugged. "Did you know you were virtually screaming in your sleep? I was already on my way to shake you awake if necessary, but then you shouted for light and started running, so I thought I'd better make sure it really was only a nightmare."  
  
"Only a nightmare!" repeated Ginny feebly, wiping the sweat out of her eyes. "Oh, Great Powers of Light, I hope I never see another one like that!" Harry regarded her critically.  
  
"That bad, huh?"  
  
Ginny nodded feebly, not having the strength to answer.  
  
"Okay." Harry looked at her seriously. "I think some kind of restorative and a little talk are both in order, before either of us attempts to get any more sleep. Ginny, I suggest you go put on the nightclothes Hermione left for you, and I'll meet you in the kitchen in about five minutes: I need to get something a little more decent than this to wear."  
  
Harry grinned mildly in her direction, and Ginny suddenly realised that his meagre bathrobe was likely the only thing he was wearing. Her cheeks flamed and she turned quickly back to her bedroom.  
  
Harry had been right about her need to change clothes, Ginny thought as she stripped off the black jeans and skinny teeshirt she had thought so cool. Now they looked like rags: soaked with sweat and creased beyond redemption. She shook her head; this would never do. Ten minutes later found her swiftly showered and dressed in one of her own nightshirts and Hermione's spare bathrobe. Curled up on the kitchen sofa in front of the warm range drinking Harry's cocoa, Ginny didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed to note that Harry's legs were now covered by striped pyjama bottoms. As warmth flooded through her, she began to feel more human.  
  
"Now," said Harry, placing his mug down on the table. "What caused such a violent nightmare, Ginny? Are you able to tell me?" She nodded.  
  
"I think so, but I don't suppose you'll learn anything useful from it." With that rider, Ginny told him as much as she could remember about her dream, including the horror of seeing David's face at the top of the pedestal on the altar. Harry pondered briefly, then shrugged.  
  
"Ginny, I'm almost positive that Markland is Muggle through and through - he's not even a sensitive." Harry paused to gather his thoughts. "I took a mental reading on him when I first met him." he continued. "I wondered whether he was a latent, and if so, whether your problems with your relationship could be solved that way. Perhaps by trying to shock his abilities into focus. However, I'm afraid he's as psychically dead as the proverbial dodo: absolutely no response, no talent. But," and here he held up a hand to forestall her interruption, "I have been known to be wrong. On occasions, that is." His eyes twinkled. "David Markland's talent may be too deeply buried even for me to uncover."  
  
There was a slight question-mark in Harry's voice, but Ginny shook her head.  
  
"I gave up hoping he was really a wizard deep down a long time ago." Ginny propped her chin in her hands thoughtfully. "It's like - like living with someone who's blind or deaf and pretending you can't see or hear too, just to keep them from realising that there's a whole different world out there that they're never going to be able to experience."  
  
A tear rolled slowly down her cheek, unchecked.  
  
"I wish I could have helped him," Ginny sighed, "or at least have been able to keep my two lives separate." She made a small impatient sound. "I should have stopped deceiving myself. I couldn't make myself into a Muggle any more than I could make him into a wizard."  
  
Harry didn't react immediately, but instead seemed to ponder for a while before answering. Then he leaned forward and took both her hands in his.  
  
"You are a very powerful sorceress," Harry began earnestly. "Minerva McGonagall told me you were way ahead of the rest of your family, including Molly and Arthur, by the time you were sixteen. I think at the time she had a family alliance in mind, but this was before she was aware of, well, of my understanding with Cho." A shadow came over his face momentarily.  
  
"Anyway," Harry continued, making an effort to shake off the past. "Quite apart from the mental misery it must have cost you to suppress your powers over these past three years, it's positively criminal to waste such an ability." He reached out to take her small hands in his larger ones.  
  
"Ginny," Harry said gravely, "you've lost crucial time in the development of your powers by pretending to be something you're not, and you've exposed yourself to psychic suffering of a very acute kind. I know the particular nightmare you experienced tonight had its roots in last weekend's traumas, but can you look me in the face and swear that you have had a dream-free night since you first started trying to deny yourself? Well, can you?"  
  
Harry ducked his head as Ginny looked away, trying to catch her gaze. Forced into a confrontation, the girl stared back boldly and shook her head.  
  
"It's been hell on earth," Ginny stated quietly. Harry gave a slight nod.  
  
"And if you want to sleep peacefully again," Harry added with a grim smile, "I suggest you start giving your powers a regular workout."  
  
Ginny sipped her cocoa thoughtfully, hugging her knees. After a pause, she looked up at him curiously over the rim of her mug.  
  
"Harry," Ginny began, cautiously, "what exactly happened last weekend? In the temple, I mean?"  
  
Harry sighed and looked away, running a hand through tousled hair. Irrelevantly, Ginny noticed how much better it suited him dark, despite his deep suntan. He looked straight at her, his startlingly green eyes bleak.  
  
"Well," Harry began, "the plain facts are as I told you then: Voldemort is alive and powerful, but he exists in a parallel dimension. He still seems to be obsessed with conquering our world, and he's now trying to break through the barrier between planes to materialise physically here. I believe he kidnapped Fred in order to try to use him as a host body."  
  
Ginny shivered.  
  
"Quite," Harry agreed, nodding seriously. "Fred's physical youth and strength, together with his magical powers, knowledge of Ministry secrets and unassailable position with us here make him the front runner. The only better target would have been me: Harry Potter himself." He made a disgusted noise then shook his head. "But Voldemort would never have tried it on with me. It would have meant showing his hand too soon." He reached forward to push a wayward strand of hair away from Ginny's face and smiled.  
  
"As it is," Harry said in a lighter tone, "Voldemort has been forced to change his plans materially. If he had succeeded in taking possession of Fred's body, we would have been hard put to it indeed to stop him. It was purely down to your talent and grit, Ginny, that he hasn't already begun his reign of terror."  
  
Ginny shook her head, unwilling to accept the tribute, then looked up again.  
  
"But how did we do it, Harry?" Ginny asked. "I mean, what happened between us back there? What did we do? I've never heard of any two wizards being able to, well, join. To merge their power in that way before."  
  
"To be totally honest, Ginny, neither have I." Harry favoured her with a wry smile before frowning in thought.  
  
"All I know," Harry continued, "is that I was so sickened by the sight of my worst nightmares becoming real that I couldn't even move, never mind work out a defensive strategy. You were the one who spotted the weakness - how did you do that, by the way?"  
  
"I've really no idea." Ginny responded pensively "I just remember seeing everything tinted in red, and I seemed to know that the brightest object was the one I had to hit - in whatever way was most appropriate!"  
  
"Yet another mystery," Harry shrugged. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a little out of control, like I'm working to someone else's agenda, even when I'm fighting back." He sighed. "I'd really like to be able to return to some kind of normal existence, you know. Preferably while I'm still young enough to enjoy it, but there you go: life is seldom what you would wish."  
  
"But Harry," persisted Ginny, "how did we manage to pool our power like that?" .  
  
"I wish I knew, Gin," Harry frowned, scratching his head. "It's a formidable weapon, you know, particularly if we could expand the pool to include other wizards. Pouring a large amount of magical energy through one outlet must pretty dangerous though, if my physical reaction to the exertion is anything to go on, but we really ought to ask someone a little more adept than we are. How about Sirius?"  
  
Ginny shrugged then bit her lip as though she was debating whether or not to say something.  
  
"It was more than a pooling of power, Harry," Ginny said finally, in a low voice. "I could feel your thoughts, your - emotions."  
  
Harry didn't speak for a while, but his gut twisted. He had suspected, feared that she had also experienced the strange melding that had rattled him so badly. In fact, he had been so unsettled by the experience that he had tried not to examine it too closely, and here she was forcing him to drag it back up for analysis.  
  
"Ginny, I ." Ginny held up a hand to silence him.  
  
"Please, don't speak yet, let me finish."  
  
Ginny swallowed on a dry throat and tried again.  
  
"Harry, you were always aware of the childish crush I had on you when I first met you, weren't you?" Ginny began with a wry smile. "Harry the Hero, the Boy Who Lived! What red-blooded Hogwarts witch didn't fantasise about going out with you? Unlike the others, I got to know you for yourself through your friendship with Ron, and my crush didn't die. It just changed and got stronger; grew up with me, if you like. But I had assumed all the time that it was completely one-sided; that you were so wrapped up in - in Cho, even now, that there could never be anyone else."  
  
"Ginny, please." Harry's face twisted as if in pain. Ginny's knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the table.  
  
"I'm sorry to talk about her, Harry," Ginny continued doggedly. "But life has to go on, and you can't ignore the fact that she isn't here any more." Her eyes held nothing but desperate sorrow. Harry shook his head, violently but did not speak.  
  
"This is difficult for me too, Harry, but it's got to be said." Ginny was unconsciously lacing and unlacing her fingers.  
  
"I felt your emotions, Harry," Ginny said in a very low tone without looking at him. "I heard your thoughts. Until now I had no idea that any feelings I had for you might be returned, despite Cho."  
  
Harry looked up sharply, piercing her with the directness of his gaze. Unreasonable anger threatened to spill out of him.  
  
"Well, now you know, don't you?" Harry snapped back. "Much good it'll do either of us."  
  
"I don't understand!" Ginny cried, shaking her head in confusion. "What's stopping you, Harry? I know how you feel, I was there, with you, in you. And it's not as though you could ever have had any doubts as to my feelings, so why did you keep away from me? Why are you holding back even now?"  
  
Harry did not respond or even look at her; his face could have been graven in stone. A long moment passed. Ginny's shoulders sagged and a deep sigh escaped her. She uncurled her legs from the sofa, placed her mug carefully on the coffee table, and stood up.  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny whispered. "I just don't understand. But it hurts anyway."  
  
Ginny laid her hands on Harry's shoulders and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. He made a harsh, painful sound deep in his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her abdomen, breathing in the fragrance of her skin.  
  
"Oh, Ginny, if you only knew ."  
  
Harry's voice was harsh, tight. He raised his head to look at her. Tendrils of long red hair brushed his face as she tentatively angled her head towards his.  
  
For a moment, just for an instant, it seemed that Harry would surrender. They were so close Ginny could feel his breath on her lips; smell his hair, the heat of his flesh. She closed her eyes in anticipation then with a groan, Harry turned and almost fell away from her, his breathing harsh.  
  
"I can't do this to you." Harry whispered. "The risk to your safety, and you're on the rebound anyway. How could I even think of ..." He trailed off, shaking his head and started to walk towards the stairs.  
  
"Harry."  
  
Harry stopped dead as Ginny spoke. He didn't turn round. He heard her footsteps, felt the warmth of her body as she drew near to him, placing a hand on his arm.  
  
"I'm not on the rebound, not with you," Ginny told him quietly. "I've always known that David was no good for me, but I refused to believe it until you came back. Then as soon as I saw you in the Green Room of the Café Royale, I knew it was all over between David and me. I stayed with him so long because I couldn't have you, because you'd left me here in England, because I believed you never cared for me. How could you deny me for so long?"  
  
Ginny's eyes were bright with anguish.  
  
"Deny you?" Harry blurted, incredulously. "Deny you! Ginny, don't you understand? Voldemort kills people who are close to me - my parents, Remus, Albus, Cho - I couldn't risk any of your lives by close association with me, I had to go away, pretend I didn't care. I didn't dare have any sort of romantic liaison - I've been celibate since Cho! - even friendships were out of the question. I gambled on Voldemort's weakness for a whole year in London, while I found this house and started to renovate it, but when you graduated and it looked as though you would be moving in with Hermione, I knew I couldn't risk it any longer. That's when I decided to take the job in LA."  
  
"And I moved in with David," mused Ginny, stroking her bottom lip with her index finger. Harry shook his head.  
  
"Even then, the fact that you and I were close - I've coped with a lot of grief and pain in my life, Ginny, but losing you to Voldemort's evil would have broken me wide open." Harry put a hand to his forehead in frustration.  
  
"I feel as though I've been living in a vacuum," Harry finally burst out. "Any sort of emotional involvement on my part exposed the other person to danger. Ergo the only kind of relationship I could form was with someone I didn't care about. And even then, if I caused the death of an innocent person, the guilt would destroy me. Why try? It's a Catch 22 situation, just like the fiction the world believed about Voldemort."  
  
He paced the room, flailing his hands wildly in agitation.  
  
"Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort when he was still at school, so now the world is free," Harry began breathlessly. "Consequently, no one keeps a watching brief on his possible return - because he's not going to come back. Nobody bothers correlating all the pointers, large and small, which have been building up over the years - because he's been neutralized. I'm one of the few people who know that isn't the case, that it'll take more than a sixteen-year old schoolboy, however special, to rid the world of that menace, but I can't ask for help BECAUSE VOLDEMORT IS DEAD!"  
  
Harry practically shouted the last four words, hands tearing at his wayward dark hair. He paused for breath.  
  
"And I couldn't explain," Harry continued tightly. He was shaking his head over and over again. "I had to leave you, all of you, my family - and I couldn't even tell you why." He stared at the floor. Gently, Ginny pushed his hair back from his forehead.  
  
"'A paradox, a paradox, a most ingenious paradox,'" Ginny sang quietly almost to herself then tilted Harry's chin up to meet her eyes. "Let me help." He looked at her uncomprehendingly.  
  
"Harry, you can't live your life like a clam," Ginny continued. "You can't foreswear all emotional relationships for the rest of your life for fear of the unknown." Harry merely continued to shake his head, beyond words.  
  
"I'm supposed to be some sort of wizkid sorceress, aren't I?" Ginny smiled wryly, the light of challenge in her eyes. "Well, use my powers, take me on to your team. Let me into your life."  
  
Harry stared with wide eyes. He seemed temporarily robbed of speech.  
  
"Harry," Ginny said uncertainly. Tentatively, she reached for him. "Harry?"  
  
Time stood still. And then, hesitantly, Harry extended a shaking hand. Slowly, slowly his fingers traced the contours of Ginny's face, down to her neck and shoulders, never quite touching the skin. Motionless, her breathing quick and shallow, Ginny made no sign of protest or assent, no move either to check or to encourage his actions. Trancelike, Harry continued his lingering exploration, moving down her arms, on to her hands and fingers. She felt his wayward hair brush her ear; his breath was hot on her cheeks, lips lightly grazing her skin. Then his trembling mouth settled over hers.  
  
The contact was so fleeting that at first Ginny was unsure whether they really had kissed. Harry's eyes snapped wide open. An expression resembling nothing so much as abject terror chased its way across his face.  
  
"Oh, gods!" Ginny could hardly hear Harry's panicked whisper above the beating of her own heart. Their eyes met, wide and scared. He swallowed dryly, then reached for her again, his mouth firmer this time; more assured.  
  
Harry tasted of chocolate and fear. Ginny felt his body shake convulsively against hers, his heart pounding fit to burst. He thrust her away from him, staring intensely, almost angrily into her face. Then suddenly he snatched her once again into his arms, kissing her as though he were a drowning man and she a straw in the ocean. She took a quick shuddering gasp and pulled his mouth down onto hers again, desperate to hold him, to keep him from running away from her once more. He freed his lips, burying them in her hair.  
  
"Ginny," Harry breathed, his eyes closed. "Stop me. Please. I - I can't. Don't let me do this."  
  
Ginny silenced his protests with another kiss, which rapidly progressed into something much more serious.  
  
"You'll never be safe again," Harry muttered, when he could breathe. Ginny broke free and stared at him, her eyes almost black, her lips swollen and pouting. His mouth parched, dry as dust in a desert. Silently, she took him by the hand and led him out of the kitchen, upstairs into the warm, velvety darkness.  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	7. Chapter Seven On the Wings of the Morni...

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
Chapter Seven - "On the Wings of the Morning"  
  
Harry watched the moon go down, pressed pale into the horizon by the approaching sunrise. It was going to be another warm day, he reflected, observing the clarity of the sky, the morning mist barely shadowing its beauty.  
  
And I have betrayed a trust, he thought. Not just to Ginny, but to a family who have loved and supported me since childhood.  
  
Harry looked back to the double bed with its single occupant outlined against the plain dark blue sheets, and smiled a little sadly. Ginny's red hair contrasted starkly with the colour. She was deeply asleep, sated and exhausted after the fulfilment of years of longing and frustration. Harry's heart melted as he gazed at her.  
  
She is so beautiful, Harry thought, smiling gently, and so vulnerable. So was Cho. He shifted awkwardly, unwilling to deal with those particular memories right now.  
  
Silently, Harry opened the glass doors to the balcony and stepped out into the pre-dawn chill. He gazed out over the garden, standing perfectly still, listening to the rustling of the leaves in the faint breeze. The temple was not visible from his room, being obscured by trees, but he knew it was there and that it would not simply disappear.  
  
Voldemort has ruined my life, Harry found himself thinking. He killed my parents. He threatened my every move throughout my young life. He tried to kill me on average once a year until I was sixteen. He destroyed my friends .  
  
Harry felt his throat tighten as he thought of Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, both dead at Voldemort's hand while he, Harry Potter, lived on to vanquish the evil wizard. Or so everyone thought. He turned away and went back into the bedroom, closing the glass doors silently. Ginny turned over, murmuring softly in her sleep as he left the room.  
  
Down in the kitchen, Harry was slightly startled but not entirely surprised to find Fred moving around, fully dressed, making coffee. He looked up as Harry came in.  
  
"Hiya," Fred said, smiling. "Care for a caffeine hit? What are you doing up at this time?"  
  
Harry eyed him suspiciously but nevertheless retrieved a large mug from the draining board, bringing it over to be filled.  
  
"I could ask you the same question," Harry replied, "and I, at least, am appropriately dressed for this early hour. Do my eyes deceive me, or are they last night's clothes?"  
  
Smiling enigmatically, Fred filled two mugs with a dark, strongly aromatic brew and handed one to Harry. Harry sniffed appreciatively before taking the first reviving mouthful. Fred sipped his own coffee, frowning critically at the other man over the rim of his mug. Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow; Fred grinned in reply.  
  
"I was trying to work out what's different about you," Fred said. "It's your hair, isn't it? You've enchanted it back to its original colour. Sun- bleaching a little out of place anywhere but LA, huh?"  
  
"Not bad, Fred," Harry scowled and involuntarily raked a hand through his fringe, "But you haven't answered my question."  
  
"No, I haven't, have I?" Fred riposted, cheerfully. "Just for the record, did you change your hair because Hermione commented on it or because Ginny did?" Harry felt his face flush.  
  
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Fred!"  
  
"Now who's not answering questions!"  
  
"Look, Fred, Hermione's my best friend, apart from Ron, and Ginny - well, Ginny's ."  
  
"Upstairs asleep in your bed at present, so if you don't want to completely arse-up your relationship before it's even off the ground, you'd better take her the extra cup of coffee!"  
  
Fred held out a further full mug, grinning wolfishly. Harry stared at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, then spluttered violently as he forgot to swallow before breathing. Fred, enjoying every moment of Harry's confusion, patted him solicitously on the back as he fought for control.  
  
"What - did you just say?" Harry whispered hoarsely, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his bathrobe.  
  
"You heard," Fred responded. "I'm not the best intelligence officer in the Ministry for nothing, you know. Hey, relax - chill out!" He grinned in genuine amusement at Harry's horrified face.  
  
"I'm not going to rip your balls off for bonking my sister, and neither is George: as a matter of fact, we couldn't be more pleased," Fred continued affably. "She's been aching for it for years and let's face it - you've got to be a better prospect than the pratt who's just given her the push!"  
  
Harry was stunned almost into immobility. Fred crowed loudly.  
  
"Oh, if only Ron were here to see this!" Fred exclaimed, jubilantly. "The famous Harry Potter, completely lost for words!"  
  
"Oh, my owl - Ron!" Harry whispered, his face abruptly panic-stricken.  
  
"Now Ron's reaction could be a touch tricky," Fred admitted more soberly. "He's a mite protective when it comes to our little sister." He shrugged. "But I guess you'll have to cross that bridge when you come to it."  
  
Fred raised his mug in a mock toast and smiled genially over the rim. Ignoring him, Harry refilled his own mug, picked up the fresh full one and, nodding his thanks to Fred, departed back to the West Wing.  
  
Ginny wasn't yet awake when Harry opened the door, but the smell of the coffee seemed to act like an alarm clock and, as he placed her mug gently on the bedside table, she stirred, stretched and opened her eyes. Harry smiled as she gazed mistily up at him, her eyes unfocussed, like a small child, then she gave a dreamy yawn and stretched languorously.  
  
"Good morning," she said, her voice husky.  
  
"Good morning." Harry replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing her the coffee. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
Ginny gave him a sharp look as though she expected there to be some sting behind the query, but his eyes were bland and innocuous.  
  
"Thank you, yes," Ginny replied. "Your bed is very comfortable. And thank you for the coffee too." She sat up, reaching carefully for the mug, the sheet held strategically over her torso. Harry's eyes traveled over the long line of her back to where it disappeared under the covers. He swallowed, quickly shifting his gaze to her face.  
  
"Ginny," Harry said, his expression serious. "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?" Ginny pouted, making a sound of annoyance.  
  
"Harry Potter, for goodness sake, we went through all this at length last night!" she said, glaring at him in exasperation as she sipped her drink. "I'm a big girl now and I have every intention of behaving like one. I've waited years for this, and you're not going to talk your way out of it by harping on and on about You-Know-Who."  
  
Harry put down his empty mug and took her hands; his skin tingled at the touch.  
  
"Ginny, you know how I feel about you," he began quietly. "You saw into my heart only too plainly." He paused and continued in a quieter, more hesitant voice. "But, you see, there's still - Cho."  
  
Ginny cringed inside. The spectre of Cho Chang had haunted her throughout her life, it seemed. Doomed Harry Potter, who triumphed over the Dark Lord when all was thought to be lost, only to subsequently lose his girl in a tragic accident which broke his heart beyond all mending: this had been the substance of many a glossy Witch magazine's speculations. Ginny had read them all, and had cursed Cho over and over again, largely for being dead and therefore unassailable. A living Cho could perhaps have been supplanted, a dead one, never.  
  
"Do you often think about her? Cho, I mean," Ginny asked. Her voice trembled slightly; Harry seemed not to notice. He sat silently brooding for a moment then he shifted awkwardly in his seat and looked back at her.  
  
"All the time, Ginny," he replied, huskily. "Every day."  
  
Ginny lowered her eyes into her empty mug, but Harry hadn't finished.  
  
"I can't avoid thinking about her constantly when I know in my heart that I was responsible for her death."  
  
Ginny raised her head and stared at him.  
  
"What do you mean? Harry, it was a Muggle car that ran her down, I read the newspaper reports." she trailed off in confusion. He was nodding.  
  
"Oh yes, I know what the rags said about it," Harry replied, coolly. "I read them all, several times. Then I burnt them."  
  
A silence descended between them, thick as marsh mud. Ginny's free hand pleated and unpleated the edge of the sheet; she could think of nothing to say that would help.  
  
"Ginny, I can't protect you from Voldemort." Harry continued finally. His face was sad. "I'm one of the most skilled wizards in the world, and yet I can't guarantee your life." He rose to his feet and began to pace the room.  
  
"I know it'll be difficult," he said, not looking at her, "especially after last night, but the safest thing by far for us both would be to put what happened between us on the back burner. For me to solve this riddle concerning the temple in the garden, try to stop Voldemort returning at this time, and then to go back to LA. We can, of course, see each other occasionally when I return to England, but otherwise we've got to call a halt. He must never know that I. that we've. Well, anyway, it's the only way you're going to be truly safe from him."  
  
"Are you kidding?" Ginny sat bolt upright, forgetting her state of undress. "Harry Potter, I have absolutely no intention of letting you out of my sight! I think all this analysis has gone to your head. I'm a witch, Harry, and a far better one than Cho ever was, despite my lack of practice. You-Know-Who is not going to get the better of me in a hurry. Just let him try, that's all!" Harry smiled.  
  
"No wonder they put you in Gryffindor, my little red-haired lion." he teased, quickly looking away as he realised just how far her sheet had slipped. Ginny flushed, scrambling to restore her dignity, then she stopped, let the bedclothes fall away from her body and looked up at Harry through thick, dark eyelashes.  
  
"Let's just enjoy each other while we can," Ginny whispered, opening her arms to him. "Whatever happens in the future, at least we can have this brief time together. Please?"  
  
And Harry could find no good reason in his heart to hold back any longer.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
This time was better, Harry thought.  
  
The first time had been born of desperate hunger and a backlog of emotional confusion, and while the results were not exactly brief, they had certainly been intense. When it was over, Ginny had fallen instantly into the oblivion of exhaustion, leaving Harry physically drained but his mind working overtime.  
  
This second time was different. Now with the freedom to move more slowly, Harry began to uncover memories and to rediscover delights he had thought he would never experience with a woman again. He moved more surely now, no longer frantic to relieve the ache, but able to pace himself. I'm the one who's out of practice here, he realised with amusement, but we'll get there.  
  
Much later, Harry kissed Ginny gently and settled her head in the crook of his shoulder before they both drifted into an untroubled, dreamless sleep.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"Lee, Ron, I'm really sorry but we're going to have to have our coffee and wait until Harry surfaces."  
  
Hermione was as flustered as any of them had ever seen her.  
  
"It's so unlike him to sleep in," Hermione continued worriedly, "but I really don't want to disturb him after all he's been through lately. And another thing," she turned an anxious face towards Fred. "I can't seem to find Ginny. Her bed's been slept in and she's obviously changed clothes at some stage, but she doesn't seem to be anywhere in the house."  
  
Like the experienced intelligence officer he was, Fred remained outwardly calm, betraying none of his inner amusement.  
  
"Don't get into a state, Hermione," he began soothingly, his face bland. "It's not as though she's likely to run away. She's probably just gone to the newsagents." Hermione looked at him scathingly.  
  
"The Daily Prophet comes by owl, you know that Fred!"  
  
"She's lived with a Muggle for three years," Fred suggested, shrugging. "Perhaps she has a favourite Muggle Sunday paper."  
  
George turned away and unnecessarily filled the kettle with water to hide a smile.  
  
"Ah well," said Ron, flinging himself on to the sofa with exaggerated abandon. "We've got all day, I suppose - except that Lee and I have a lunch date round the 'Cat & Warlock'."  
  
"Really," said Hermione, too casually. "Anyone I know?" Lee giggled.  
  
"Yeah." Ron replied heartily. "The heats of the Quidditch World Cup, England -v- Transylvania, and a couple of pints of butterbeer!" Hermione sniffed.  
  
"Louts!" she muttered, but she refilled their coffee mugs all the same.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Ginny woke first, stretching gently and registering that the window was much lighter than it had been earlier. She turned towards Harry, kissing his neck and snuggling closer. Still half-asleep, Harry wrapped his arms more tightly around her, his lips searching drowsily for hers. After a very pleasant few moments, he opened his eyes and smiled.  
  
"What a wonderful way to wake up," Harry murmured indistinctly, hands and mouth busy. Ginny submitted just long enough to make sure he was really interested, then wriggled free and slid out from beneath the sheets.  
  
"Hey!" protested Harry, sitting up. "Where are you going?"  
  
She giggled and, throwing on Hermione's bathrobe, opened the bedroom door, pausing in the doorway  
  
"There's a huge new corner bath in my bathroom," she whispered, mischievously. "Want to come christen it?"  
  
She gave a piercing shriek as Harry bounded out of bed, not even bothering to grab his robe, and pelted down the corridor after her.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Hermione paused in her conversation with Lee and frowned, looking towards the West Wing staircase.  
  
"I thought I heard - wait a minute, I think Harry must have surfaced." Hermione smiled in relief.  
  
"I'll go check," put in Fred quickly, getting to his feet, but he was just slightly too late.  
  
"It's okay," said Ron, already halfway to the stairs, holding a mug. "I'll see if he wants some coffee."  
  
So much for breaking it to Ron gently! mused Fred as he returned to his seat, mentally cringing in anticipation of the forthcoming explosion.  
  
Ron climbed the West Wing staircase towards Harry's room, noting the muffled sounds of giggling and splashing coming from Ginny's bathroom. He smiled: she sounded happy enough with her new quarters. At least Hermione could stop worrying about where she was.  
  
"Come on, mate," he announced loudly, striding into Harry's room coffee in hand. "Time for another council of war, all the gang are here. Get up, you lazy ."  
  
But Harry was nowhere to be seen. Ron crossed to the bathroom and knocked gently on the door: it swung open revealing a totally empty room. He turned slowly and surveyed Harry's bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, the bed unmade and in extreme disarray, and various items of clothing lay in unceremonious puddles on the floor. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he picked up a vaguely familiar pink nightshirt, regarded it with his jaw hanging loose then draped it unseeingly over the bed. Still holding the cup of coffee, he left Harry's room and followed the splashing sounds almost as though his feet were doing the thinking for him. On autopilot, he walked through Ginny's bedroom, across towards the wide-open bathroom door and peered around it.  
  
They were both in the new tub Harry had designed with their backs to the door. Harry was washing Ginny's hair, pausing occasionally to brush away the bubbles dripping down his face from his own drenched head.  
  
"I don't have to use the conditioner on my hair too, do I?" Harry grumbled as he worked the shampoo through the long red mane. Ginny giggled.  
  
"Oh, alright, I'll let you off, but you've still got to do mine - and comb it through!" Harry groaned, pausing in his ministrations to look around for a comb.  
  
"Do you mean to tell me I've got to get out and drip all over the new carpets just so that you can look beautiful?"  
  
Ginny turned her head and grinned at him, kissing his nose briefly.  
  
"S'right, lover boy. Time you learned what it is to have a girlfriend!"  
  
Muttering under his breath, Harry stood up, turning round to get out of the bath, and froze.  
  
"Oh, gods." Harry breathed.  
  
"What?" said Ginny, starting to turn round. With incredible presence of mind, Harry thrust her back into the bath water.  
  
"Mmmf! Harry!" she shrieked indignantly.  
  
"Don't get up," Harry told her, calmly enough. "Just keep under the bubbles."  
  
Harry looked back at Ron. The readhead's jaw was hanging slackly, his eyes goggling, and as Harry watched, the cup of black coffee slid unheeded from his hand to splash its contents over the new carpet. Harry sighed and got out of the bath, wrapping a towel around his waist, giving Ginny a suddenly unobstructed view of the doorway. She gasped in horror and let out a sharp scream.  
  
Down in the kitchen, every eye suddenly jerked towards the stairs. Fred winced involuntarily.  
  
Harry walked over to Ron and picked up the fallen mug, shaking his head.  
  
"Nice of you to bring me coffee, mate, but I guess it could have waited until I'd got downstairs."  
  
Ron did not react, he seemed in shock. Harry shrugged, took Ron's wand out of his pocket and muttered a brief charm. The coffee immediately levitated out of the carpet and back into the mug. Having just about recovered from the intrusion, Ginny leaned over the side of the bath, careful to keep most of herself hidden.  
  
"You'll have to teach me that one," she said conversationally. "I still have to deal with spillages the Muggle way."  
  
"Serves you right for letting things slide for four years!" Harry replied, smiling wryly, then looked at her critically.  
  
"Much as I like your present attire," Harry began reluctantly, "I think it might be as well if you got dressed now, Ginny. I'll deal with Ron."  
  
Ginny nodded, and modestly waited for them to leave.  
  
Steering Ron back into the bedroom, Harry then walked him into the corridor and propped him up against a wall.  
  
"Stay here," Harry ordered. "I'm just going to throw some clothes on."  
  
Two minutes later, Harry emerged with bare feet, pulling a teeshirt over his head. Ron was still where Harry had left him, frowning and absently sipping the recovered coffee. Harry paused, unsure from which direction the inevitable attack was going to come, then Ron did something which floored him completely: he smiled.  
  
"Well, it's certainly taken long enough," he said amiably. "I'd written you two off - I never expected in a month of Sundays. Well, well, well - and in a bath too! I never had you pegged as the adventurous type, Harry." Harry paused, looking slightly uncomfortable.  
  
"Whatever perverted conclusions your twisted little mind is jumping to, Ron," Harry protested, "I can assure you the situation in the bathroom was entirely innocent. We were just - getting clean."  
  
Ron's laughter had become hysterical before Harry had even finished the sentence.  
  
"Getting clean?" Ron spluttered when he was once more capable of speech. "My owl, that's the most original name for it I've heard in a long while - and you can stand there spouting that sanctimonious load of codswallop with a totally straight face too!"  
  
Harry stood feeling rather foolish while his friend bent over almost double with laughter.  
  
"Ron," Harry began, warningly, "if you so much as think about teasing Ginny on this subject, I'll drag you straight back into that bathroom, and drown you in that nice, new tub!"  
  
Ron's eyes were out on stalks.  
  
"Flamel's Stone, Harry; water sports with my sister is one thing, but I had no idea you were into team events! It just shows, doesn't it? You never really know your friends till you share a bath with them. Come to think of it, perhaps Hermione should try to persuade Colin Creevey he'd like to move in here with you after all - I hear on the wizard grapevine he has an interest in both teams."  
  
Glaring at his laughing friend, Harry punched Ron none-too-gently on the shoulder.  
  
"Ow!" said Ron, jumping about and holding his arm, still laughing. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I only came up here to call you downstairs. The whole gang's here. Or had you forgotten the meeting?"  
  
Harry's blank look rapidly shifted into one of sudden enlightenment and he clapped his hand to his forehead.  
  
"Great Merlin, I had forgotten!" Ron smirked.  
  
"So many other things to concentrate on that it sort of slipped your mind, huh?"  
  
"Ron, if you don't go downstairs right now and stop winding me up, it'll be the Furnunculus curse, no messing about, I promise!"  
  
"Okay, okay!" Ron thrust the coffee mug at Harry and held up his hands in surrender. "We'll see you two in - a few minutes, yes?"  
  
Still chuckling, he disappeared back to the kitchen. Harry sighed and started to drink the remains of the coffee Ron had brought him. He made a face - it was really too cold to bother with now. He went back into Ginny's bedroom, pausing to knock on the door before entering, and found her drying her hair with a desiccating charm.  
  
"It's not good for the hair," she explained at Harry's puzzled look. "I have to use a repair serum afterwards, which almost defeats the point, but I think speed is of the essence this morning, seeing as we were due in a meeting half an hour ago."  
  
"If you knew that, why didn't you tell me?" Harry protested. Ginny smiled.  
  
"I didn't like to," she replied, "You seemed to be having so much fun I thought it would be a shame to spoil it ."  
  
Ginny didn't get to finish her sentence as Harry, having endured quite a bit of teasing already that morning, made a lunge for her that narrowly missed. With the agility of a monkey, Ginny dodged his outstretched arms, skirted the bed and scuttled out of the door, coming to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. She eyed him solemnly as he skidded to a halt beside her and took his hand. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her change of mood.  
  
"Harry," Ginny said, timid but determined, "It's make-your-mind-up time now, okay? If this was a one-night-stand then you'd better come out with it before we go downstairs. By now, Ron will have told them everything. And with a good deal of embroidery, if I know my brother. They're really going to let us have it, so we'd better make sure we're on the same page. What's it going to be?"  
  
"A one-night-stand? Ginny, you could never be that. No one who knows you would even consider such a thing." Harry put an arm protectively around her. "Besides which," he continued wryly, "your brothers, while seeming to be reasonably content with the situation at present, would have no hesitation in castrating me and hanging the bits from the chimney pots if I let you down."  
  
"You could be right at that." Ginny replied, raising a speculative eyebrow. Harry tightened his arm, squeezing her shoulders. He looked down into her eyes, his face serious and shadowed.  
  
"Don't worry Ginny," he said in a curiously empty tone. "I'd rather die myself than let Voldemort harm you. I won't let that happen - whatever it takes."  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Harry was first through the kitchen door. Ginny felt him release and drop her hand like a discarded glove before he entered the room. Surprised and unsettled, she slipped into the kitchen after him, trying not to attract attention.  
  
"I'm sorry I'm so late for this meeting," Harry began in such a serious manner that Ron's potential barracking died on his lips. "It's particularly bad-mannered of me considering that I deliberately set an early time. Please accept my apologies. Now, Hermione, if we could borrow your study for an hour or so, I'd be very grateful. Somehow our kitchen is not terribly conducive to meetings; people tend to digress on to matters totally unrelated to the subject in question. I've often wondered why."  
  
Harry turned on his heel and left the room, evidently expecting the others to follow him. George raised his eyebrows at Fred who shrugged, picked up his coffee mug and strolled casually out into the hall. Lee followed closely on Fred's heels. George exchanged a further glance with Ron and, evidently deciding that discretion was the better part of it, rose from his chair to follow his brother. A baffled Ron trailed in George's wake, uncertain as to how Harry had managed that particular manoeuvre.  
  
Hermione, left alone with an abandoned Ginny, absently helped her clear the coffee cups from the table to the draining board.  
  
"Is everything - well, okay?" Hermione asked, looking intently into the other girl's face. Ginny averted her eyes, blinking slightly and shrugged.  
  
"To be honest, Hermione," she replied in a slightly higher voice than usual, "I'm really not sure myself. Ask me another time, why don't you?"  
  
Stiffly, Ginny turned to walk out of the kitchen leaving Hermione to bring up the rear. She was the last to arrive at a meeting being held in her own study.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"Right then, let's make a start."  
  
Harry was brisk and businesslike. He had commandeered Hermione's desk and was seated in her swivel chair, twiddling his thumbs, waiting impatiently for the others to settle themselves. Ginny slid into the last remaining chair in the far corner of the room. With remarkable composure, Hermione drew up a footstool and, moving to the front, placed it prominently in front of Fred. Harry turned to her first.  
  
"Hermione," he began. "I take it you've managed to check up on those planetary correlations?" She nodded. "And the results were near enough to my calculations?"  
  
"Spot on, actually," Hermione told him firmly. "When I contacted her on the matter, Professor Sinistra confirmed your numbers without a trace of dissent. I even," and her mouth fixed in a moue of distaste, "took the courageous step of contacting Sibyll Trelawney. To my astonishment, she agreed in every particular. The prophecy has every chance of being genuine, and she can find no indication that it has already been fulfilled. That, I admit, was my major hesitation."  
  
There was a respectful silence: for Hermione to voluntarily go within half a continent of her former Divination Professor, the situation had to be grim.  
  
"Okay," Harry swivelled round. "Ron, what did the Ministry records have to say about the previous owner of this house?"  
  
"Well, Harry, that was very interesting indeed." Ron fished out a notebook and flipped diffidently through the last few pages.  
  
"On the surface," Ron began, "she was exactly as she represented herself - a lone witch, stuck with a large, magically augmented property, renting it out for years for lack of anything else to do with it. Rather than let it fall into disrepair, she looked for a wizard buyer, and you were the first to appear. However, I checked with Criminal Records, Court cases, connections with you-know-who, witness statements, etc., and I found her." He looked round at the others in triumph.  
  
"It was a small reference," Ron continued, "and easily missed. I was lucky to find it. She was involved peripherally in two events that make her somewhat suspicious: the first was a witness statement regarding the theft of Morgana's Mirror. She was on the premises when the theft took place and gave evidence to Aurors about the perpetrators, including descriptions. For the record, the Mirror is still missing, and the thieves haven't yet been caught.  
  
"Secondly, I found a note in one of the original transcripts from the trials of Voldemort's supporters. It was a very small infraction, but evidently she had been on the fringes of a Deatheater-incited riot near Diagon Alley, during which a number of Muggles were killed and two Aurors were badly injured. Again, she gave a witness statement, but there was some disagreement amongst the Aurors on duty as to whether she was just an innocent bystander or part of the disturbance. Eventually, they gave her the benefit of the doubt and let her go."  
  
Ron paused. Harry was silent, stroking his chin with his fingertips, deep in thought. Eventually, he expelled a heavy breath and turned towards the others.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid this is a worst case scenario." Harry said at length. "We are all in very great danger, particularly while we remain in this house, but Fred is in far greater danger than anyone else."  
  
All eyes turned to Fred, who immediately looked indignant.  
  
"Just a moment," Fred protested. "I'm as good as any of you in a pinch, better than some ." Harry was shaking his head.  
  
"It's not a matter of strength, Fred," Harry began. "I have been researching the basic procedure for the possession of another person's body - not by Imperius, but by total occupation. A number of preparations are necessary to attune the body to the potential new spirit. If these measures are not strictly adhered to, the body may reject its new symbiote or go immediately into positive feedback. Either way, the possession will not be complete and the consequences could be extremely dangerous to the possessing spirit. And, of course, fatal to the host."  
  
Ginny gave a shudder.  
  
"These procedures can take quite some time," Harry continued impassively, "and they're difficult and exacting to perform. Voldemort has put a great deal of effort into preparing you for possession, Fred. He's not going to let you off the hook easily."  
  
"Plus," added Hermione, getting out her notes, "the alignment of the planets during this celestial phase puts You-Know-Who's plane closest to us at this time. From now onwards, the potential crossover points get further apart and more difficult to negotiate."  
  
"So when's the next crossover point?"  
  
"In two days' time." Hermione didn't even have to check. There was a general gasp. Fred stood up looking as agitated as they had ever seen him.  
  
"Are you telling me," Fred began, rapidly, "that tomorrow night, You-Know- Who's going to have another go at me?"  
  
"I think we can safely assume that he is, yes." Harry did not mince his words. Fred sat down heavily then stood up again, struck by another thought.  
  
"These - preparations, Harry, are they harmful?"  
  
"I don't think so," Harry replied. "They have more to do with the adjustment of that part of Voldemort himself which is planning to relocate, than any sort of tinkering with your own internal systems."  
  
Fred wiped imaginary sweat off his brow.  
  
"Just so long as he hasn't been tampering with anything personal." Fred muttered lightly, but his eyes were worried. Harry continued.  
  
"The upshot of all this research, if you hadn't already gathered, is that I have screwed up royally."  
  
The gang looked at him uncomprehendingly. Harry ran a despairing hand through his hair.  
  
"How did I manage to beat off opposing bids for this property at the height of the development heyday, when rival companies were virtually tearing each other to shreds to get a piece of the action?" Harry sighed. "I was too ready to believe that the wizard connection guaranteed me preferential treatment, and when I saw the scale of the augmentation charm on the garden, I thought I knew why it would have been difficult to sell it to Muggles. Instead, I fell for the oldest trick in the book - the double bluff."  
  
Harry fell silent. Eventually Hermione, her forehead creased in a frown, leaned forward.  
  
"Harry, I'm afraid I don't understand you," she told him urgently, "and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Please explain - what double bluff? How could you possibly be to blame for our situation here?"  
  
"I was led by the nose!" Harry burst out. "Surely you can see that? This previous owner - I bet if we tried to find her now we couldn't. She'll either be abroad or disappeared without trace. She was one of Voldemort's creatures! She was told to sell to me!  
  
"Flamel's Stone, it must have been one hell of a shock to Voldemort to find me walking into his parlour once again in total innocence!" Harry continued, shaking his head, lost in a morass of self-reproach. "He must have thought Christmas had come early! What an opportunity! And that's what I thought it was - a gods-given opportunity to make a home for myself, for my - family. Merlin's wand, what an idiot I was!" He paused and leaned his head wearily into his hands.  
  
"Don't beat yourself to death, mate," George spoke for the first time. "Anyone could have made the same mistake."  
  
"I'm supposed to be one of the world's most powerful wizards!" Harry spat back. "And I fell for it hook, line and sinker. Voldemort must be laughing his socks off."  
  
"Snap out of it, Harry. Cut out the self-pity and let's think about this." Ron snapped sharply. "Look at it this way: You-Know-Who made his primary attempt to get back to our dimension, and failed solely because of your efforts. If you hadn't realised what was happening in time, we'd all be dead. So just stop with the emotional wallowing and start thinking!"  
  
Harry's surprised open mouth would have been comical if the situation had been less serious. He closed his teeth with an audible snap and flushed a deep brick red.  
  
"Sorry," he muttered.  
  
"Not your fault, mate, goes with the territory." Ron replied, patting him on the back. "Now. You tell us the Big-V is going to have another go in two days' time. How, where and what can we do to stop him?"  
  
"Okay," began Harry, briskly. "I'll tackle 'where' first. Frankly, it doesn't matter: all he has to do is kidnap Fred one way or another then take him to a place where the magical lines of power which run through our dimension intersect. Our temple is one of those places. Not the only one, I'll grant you, but it would take some further study for me to pinpoint any of the others. That will have to wait.  
  
"'How' and 'what' come more or less into the same category. He'll go for Fred with everything he's got, so we have to stay as a group to protect him. He won't pull any punches or worry about being subtle, and any of us who get caught in the backlash, well, that would just be a welcome bonus to him. Hermione, you discovered that the next crossover point is tomorrow night. What about the one after?" Hermione pursed her lips and consulted her notes.  
  
"The following Tuesday," she replied, "but after that there's a two week break until the next intersection, and the planes will have drifted considerably further apart by then."  
  
"Right then." Harry turned back to his friends. "So Voldemort's got to make the transition either tomorrow night or, as a last ditch attempt, next Tuesday. It's my belief he'll be very keen to do it as soon as possible, so I'm banking on him making an all-out effort to get Fred back during the hours of darkness tonight." There was a tense silence.  
  
"What can we do to stop him?" It was George speaking. "I know all the standard Ministry defences, of course, but you must have some special tricks up your sleeve, Harry, after having studied him for so many years?" Harry nodded vigorously.  
  
" Oh, yes," Harry replied. "There's quite a lot we can do to safeguard ourselves, both tonight and tomorrow. I believe we can construct sufficient protection to keep him at bay until the window of opportunity closes. Each time we resist him, it will become more difficult for him to manifest himself the next time.  
  
"But make no mistake: the crux of what I'm telling you now is that tonight Voldemort will be at his most powerful and he will exert his greatest efforts to defeat us. We will have to use every ounce of our talent, skill and ingenuity to resist him. And what we must endure during the next few hours will be beyond imagining."  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	8. Chapter Eight The Thin Red Line

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
  
Chapter Eight - "The Thin Red Line"  
  
The next few hours were filled with the nervous buzz of anticipation as each member of the gang alternately wished for the power to slow the clocks, and yet seethed with impatience for the fateful evening to be over and done with. This would be the most serious test of their lives, and whether they would all come through it, or if one or more of them would be found wanting, was very far from certain.  
  
Hermione spent the rest of the working day at her chambers re-routing urgent work, then she returned home, as she pronounced loftily to Ron, "to put her affairs in order" before 8 o'clock: the hour Harry had requested they all assemble in the West Room.  
  
"Honestly, Hermione, what's that supposed to mean?" Ron was aghast. "You sound as though you're writing a Will or something."  
  
"You can never be too careful, Ron. As an Auror, you ought to know that."  
  
"How many times do I have to say it - I'm not an Auror!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Now say it again, this time with conviction!"  
  
Lee had not bothered going into the Ministry or even back to the flat.  
  
"My in-tray will be overflowing and they'll be queuing outside my office door," he told George placidly. "Best not to bother moving really."  
  
Lee closeted himself in Hermione's study with his laptop, until she threw him out on her return later that afternoon. He then stalked into the kitchen to join Ron, who was occupying his time usefully by drinking endless cups of coffee, chewing his nails and worrying. Ginny had provided lunch for the gang, made a few phone calls and commandeered the piano in the library to put in some practice. Harry was nowhere to be seen. The twins showed a remarkable grasp of the priorities and between them cooked a large cauldron of soup, importing half the local baker's shop to accompany it. Ron gaped in amazement.  
  
"George, it's high summer!" he protested. Both his brothers glared at him darkly,  
  
"It may be high summer at the moment," Fred replied, grimly, "but we're going to be up all night, mark my words, and we'll need it come 3.00am when you-know-who comes calling."  
  
"What on earth is going on here?" Harry appeared suddenly in the doorway, staring at the lake of soup. He burst out laughing. "That's enough for an army!" George looked rather annoyed.  
  
"Well, an army marches on its stomach, doesn't it?" George responded, testily. "Anyway, Harry, if we're going to ensure you-know-who doesn't make off with Fred tonight, we're going to need some sustenance. Apart from anything else, it might keep us awake!"  
  
"Well, yes - I can see your point," Harry began, scratching his head, "except that I don't think we're going to be able to get out into the kitchen much. If at all, actually."  
  
All heads turned towards him.  
  
"Drink that, Harry." Ron said, pushing a cup of coffee into his hand, "and you might like to reassess your priorities. I for one am never going to stay awake later than 1.00am without coffee."  
  
"I've been looking into the various ways we can protect ourselves against attack," Harry told them, automatically taking a gulp of the strong, aromatic brew. "I've been researching into it all morning. I managed to get through to Professor Radcliffe in Florence, and I've been talking to various dark arts experts I've worked with before. We're all agreed that the surest form of protection is a Wall of Force."  
  
"But surely that leaves us vulnerable from above and beneath," Ron protested with a frown. "I can't see Voldemort falling for that one!"  
  
"I know," replied Harry, "but a Wall of Force can be modified into a vaguely three-dimensional shape. With the right spells, naturally."  
  
"Of course!" exclaimed Hermione, her frown lifting. "I remember Alastor Moody giving a court room a detailed description of one. I called him as an expert witness for the Defence once, about a year ago."  
  
"Did you win?" Harry asked, with interest. Hermione nodded vigorously.  
  
"Too right, we did! He had the whole courtroom on the edge of their seats. I'd use him again anytime." Hermione paused, and the frown returned.  
  
"But Harry," she protested, "the - Glass Bubble, I believe he called it. It's not perfect by any means, and it's not proof against a whole host of hexes."  
  
"Yes, Hermione, I realise that." Harry nodded.  
  
"Hey, get real you two!" Lee entered into the conversation. "I work with machines most of the time, and my magic only gets a workout once or twice a week. Have a heart and explain, will you?"  
  
Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry and giggled.  
  
"Hey, that's not fair!" Ginny glared at them from the kitchen door, coming quickly to join them. "Just because you two know what you're talking about, doesn't mean the rest of us do! I'm with Lee on this."  
  
Harry took her hand in his and patted it gently.  
  
"The Glass Bubble is a variation on the Wall of Force which moulds the protection into a bubble-shape," Harry explained. "This means that any one enclosed within the bubble will be safe from a number of external attacks, notably the three Unforgiveable Curses." Ginny's eyes widened.  
  
"But I thought the Avada curse was unblockable!" Ginny exclaimed. Harry and Fred exchanged glances.  
  
"Well, we thought so too." Harry began at length. "It's a long story involving Fred, George, myself, and a multiple manifestation of griffins. I'll tell you about it sometime - not now, please! - but the upshot is that although the Avada curse can't be blocked, it can be avoided."  
  
"Well, we know that," Ginny protested, impatiently. "All you have to do is move out of the way, same as any other curse."  
  
Harry nodded as though she had said something extremely sensible.  
  
"That's right, and that's the principle involved in the Glass Bubble," Harry went on. "Don't ask me exactly how it works, I didn't design it, but it incorporates a General Evasion charm. It literally avoids being hit by the more powerful and dangerous curses."  
  
"Now that sounds more like it!" Lee jumped out of his chair. "With one of those around the house, we could sleep soundly until the middle of next week, and there'd be nothing You-Know-Who could do about it!"  
  
Harry looked at Lee and shook his head slowly. Hermione's face took on a serious expression. She began to speak.  
  
"It isn't that simple, I'm afraid, Lee," she explained. "It's not so much a bubble as a net made out of fine mesh. Powerful, dangerous curses are deflected, but smaller, less harmful ones can get through. Also, anti- hexes or confusion charms, that sort of thing, well, they can penetrate the barrier as well." There was a small pause as the gang absorbed this information.  
  
"So," continued Lee, slowly, "although You-Know-Who can't kill or hurt us badly while we're in the bubble, he can torment us with any number of small hexes - furnunculus, morbum incido, dolorus, confusium perplexa - you name it. That's not good, Harry."  
  
The other man shrugged.  
  
"I'm sorry, Lee, it's really the best I can do. And that's not all, I'm afraid." Harry paused to rake a hand through his untidy dark hair before continuing.  
  
"When you talk about throwing a Glass Bubble around the whole house, well, it's simply not possible, not even for me," he admitted. "The Glass Bubble is only effective in small spaces, the size of a normal room, no larger."  
  
"So the upshot is that in order to keep me safe, we are going to have to spend the entire night all together in one room, yes?" It was Fred speaking. Harry nodded.  
  
"That's about the size of it, yes."  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
By 8.00pm they had all assembled in the West Room as Harry had requested.  
  
"Now," he began. "Firstly, I think this is the best place for us to spend the night. It's large and has good visibility into the garden. If anything should approach us from there, we'll have plenty of warning. It's also self-contained, having only one door into the house, and it's far enough from the road to avoid any disturbance to the neighbourhood, should there be any."  
  
There was a murmur in reply, largely on the subject of there being only two sofas. Harry shook his head.  
  
"The very first thing we must do is to move all the furniture out into the hall."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"How on earth will we fit it all in?"  
  
"Do you mean we're going to have to sit on the floor all night?"  
  
Harry held up a hand against the flood of protests.  
  
"Please, I'm serious. We can't run the risk of any remnants of magic clinging to anything in this room, not to mention the fact that, as we've discussed at length, minor hexes can get through. Imagine being stuck in a room where every item of furniture was behaving like a Quidditch bludger! It could happen. Everything that can be removed, sofas, chairs, bookcases - you name it, we've got to get rid of it. Even the pictures on the walls are a potential hazard!"  
  
The next hour was spent in preparing the room as Harry instructed. He was absolutely tireless: nothing was left, not even the carpet.  
  
"Now," he continued, "I want everyone to bring down enough bedding to be comfortable. Mats and inflatable mattresses are okay, together with your usual bedclothes and pillows, and a pile of extra blankets. Nothing magical, whatever else you bring, and nothing rigid, heavy or dangerous. We must keep as little in this room as possible."  
  
The others dutifully went upstairs. Hermione panicked slightly over whether they could find enough blankets and quilts for three extra people, but by raiding all the bedrooms they managed to garner sufficient for the purpose. Soon the resulting pile was spread carefully around the room so that everyone had sufficient space to stretch out.  
  
While the others were occupied in this task, Harry moved around the room, examining the windows and doors, muttering over the frames, noting the absence of a fireplace. He also lit the central heating boiler, making certain that the two radiators in the West Room were fully operational.  
  
"Okay," Harry said, as the others completed their preparations. "Now I think we'd all better go and eat some of that vast quantity of soup the twins have cooked for us; we really need a good meal before we go into this. After that, I think it may be as well if we all change into some less formal clothes: tracksuits, jogging pants, teeshirts, pyjamas, you know the type of thing. Things we can sleep in if necessary, although I doubt we'll be able to. And we'd better make sure we'll be warm enough. I've checked that the central heating is working, but one blast of the Frigesco charm and we'll be extremely uncomfortable whether it's working or not. Ditto for Excandesco, so make sure you put on layers of clothes that you can take off if you get too hot!"  
  
Harry and Fred practically emptied their wardrobes trying to find sweats for Lee, George and Ron. Harry, having eaten lightly and finished first, then filled plastic drinks bottles with water and carried them into the West Room. He also packed a wicker basket with all the fruit he could find in the house. Ginny set to in the kitchen and made enough sandwiches to feed a family of four for a year. The rest of the gang stood around rather aimlessly, waiting for the next move. Ron simply stared at Hermione who was looking ravishing in a scarlet tracksuit with her long brown hair down. She smiled gently at him then moved over to where Harry was still pacing the room.  
  
"Want some help with that?" Hermione enquired, softly. Harry looked up at her and she felt her heart twist at the lines of strain around his mouth, the worry etched plainly in his eyes. He sighed and nodded.  
  
"Thanks, Hermione: standard Repel All Boarders wards, extended to cover the whole of each window and door frame, also any cracks in the walls."  
  
Hermione nodded then looked back towards the others.  
  
"Hey, Ron, come and help with this, please," she ordered. With an air of jumping to attention, Ron sprang into action and had soon taken over from Harry, assisting Hermione to seal the cracks in the door and walls with magical protection. Harry paused in thought for a while then walked over to Fred.  
  
"How much do you remember about the Manhattan Island situation?" he asked, obliquely. Fred looked puzzled for a moment then understanding spread over his face.  
  
"You, me and an army of hags?" Fred replied. "Plenty, I can assure you. They frequently haunt my dreams." He smiled grimly. "I take it you want me to help you cast the Glass Bubble in tandem? Like we did then?" Harry nodded firmly.  
  
"Frankly, what you produced there was the most sure-fire defence I've seen in a long time," Harry remarked. Fred bowed his head in acceptance of the compliment.  
  
"More of the same, then?"  
  
"Too right! Let's get to it."  
  
For a while, there was no sound save for mutterings from Ron and Hermione as they continued to place wards around the room, punctuated by muted discussion between Harry and Fred. The wards were up and running while their creators sat patiently on their piles of bedding before preparations for the Glass Bubble were complete.  
  
Finally, Harry and Fred stood facing each other in the centre of the room, almost as though preparing for a wizard duel. They drew their wands together. Working in mirror image, each described a slow, graceful arc, leaving faint silver lines hanging motionless in the air. Back they both swung, in perfect unison, leaving further silvery threads, then more and more as they worked, establishing a rhythm for their magic.  
  
The sight of them was almost hypnotic; Hermione's eyes started to glaze over. She shook her head impatiently. This was a charm she had never worked, although she had heard a great deal about it, and she wanted to remember as much as possible for further study. On and on the two wizards strove in a complex ballet, drawing their wands gracefully through the air, adding more and more lines to the pattern. A shape was gradually emerging, a mesh sphere totally enclosing its creators.  
  
The pattern appeared to be complete. Precisely in time, Fred and Harry lowered their wands to rest for a moment. Their eyes met. With studied synchronisation, they raised their wands again. Once word rang out from two throats:  
  
"Extendor!"  
  
and the mesh seemed to catch fire. Brilliantly, it flamed with a silver- grey light then rapidly expanded until it touched the boundaries of the room. There it stayed, the legendary Glass Bubble, glimmering and revolving before fading into invisibility.  
  
"That was beautiful!" Ginny sighed in regret at the disappearance of the exquisite structure.  
  
"And extremely strong," Hermione was impressed. "Well done, you two. That was a stunning piece of work!"  
  
"We don't have to worry about breaking through the protection as long as we stay in the room," explained Harry, nodding his head in recognition of the accolade. "The bubble's flexible enough to accommodate any movement, but once we open the door, or even a window, we shatter it and thereby lose our only defence."  
  
Wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, Harry turned to Fred. Crouched low on the floor, the other wizard flexed tense shoulders, grimacing at the ache. He looked up at Harry and grasped the hand proffered to help him stand. Instead of releasing Fred once he was on his feet, Harry gripped the hand he held tighter and spoke in a voice meant only for Fred's ears.  
  
"Thank you," he said, simply but with a warm smile. "Your reputation both inside and out of the Ministry of Magic is fully justified!"  
  
"I won't say quite any time, but - you're welcome," Fred replied, returning the smile somewhat wearily. Releasing Fred's hand, Harry turned to the others.  
  
"Can I just remind you that we're really not sure what we're up against here?" he began. "Technically we know we can survive merely by sitting tight, but I doubt it'll be that simple. Please try not to use magic if you can possibly help it: the chances of Voldemort hexing us so that any spell will backfire are very strong. Also anything more powerful than a minor hex will shatter the bubble from the inside."  
  
"Harry, have you any idea what we can expect by way of attacks tonight?" Hermione was calm but obviously perturbed by the idea of being in the dark.  
  
"Not really," he replied, flatly. "But I can make some guesses which might hold water."  
  
"Go on then," said George, when Harry paused for thought. Harry took off his spectacles and began to polish them absent-mindedly on his jogging top.  
  
"We've already discussed the small hexes which can get through - feeling cold, hot, sick, in pain, thirsty, hungry." he said, putting his glasses back on. "We have a remedy of sorts for some of them - the water, the fruit, Ginny's sandwiches. The others we'll just have to sit out. We may be under attack in other, more subtle ways. Any one of us may suddenly feel irrationally angry, fed up, irritable, sad, frightened - many other emotional responses. It's up to the rest of us to try to spot these attacks and defuse them."  
  
"What do we do?" Lee asked with a somewhat bewildered look.  
  
"Talk to each other," Harry replied. "Look out for unusual signals, tension, anything odd or out of character and see if you can't head it off at the pass. Logical argument and reasoning tends to shift anyone who is being unduly influenced back on to the right track, but be prepared to use force if necessary. No one must leave the room, that is imperative."  
  
Lee nodded seriously, then sat down on his bedding, deep in thought.  
  
"I guess we ought to try to get some sleep," Harry continued. "I know that's probably the last thing any of us wants to do at the moment, but I don't suppose we'll get much chance later."  
  
Harry stretched himself out full length, his hands behind his head. Nodding, Fred followed suit. Slowly, the others settled themselves into their own piles of bedding. Ron, who had taken care to place himself near to Hermione, was the last to turn in, standing with his hands on his hips, frowning out of the West Room windows.  
  
"Anything wrong?" asked Hermione, turning on to her back. He shook his head still with his back to her then turned to scramble into his makeshift bed. He lay on his side against the pillows, leaning on one elbow to regard her with sombre eyes.  
  
"I'm just, well." he broke off with a humourless laugh. "I was going to say I'm a bit worried, but it's just too weird. I'm a bit worried like the sky is a bit above the grass at present." Hermione smiled.  
  
"It's all come on us rather suddenly, hasn't it?" she replied. "You know: one day Lee and I are discussing the correlations between the crime patterns in Britain, the next we're head to head with an invasion of the Dark Side, heralded by You-Know-Who's return." Ron nodded.  
  
"Seems that way," he agreed. "But all your painstaking work paid off in the end then, didn't it? I mean, it's the final proof that he's trying to return, isn't it? Organising the criminal element, all those thefts and infiltrations, the disappearances. And the strategies for keeping the public eye off his activities! You've got to hand it to him, it's a masterly piece of work."  
  
"Yes," Hermione pressed her lips together primly. "I suppose You-Know-Who does have quite a flair for murder and mayhem. Such a pity it couldn't have been re-directed when he was young. It would have saved us such a lot of trouble."  
  
Ron widened his eyes in surprise at her scalding sarcasm then sighed as he caught a glint of tears before she turned her head away impatiently. He reached across between them and caught her hand, curling his fingers around hers. In control again, she turned back to him. She didn't smile, but neither did she relinquish her grip on his hand.  
  
Ginny, who had positioned her bedding closest to Harry, turned to him now, her expression serious.  
  
"So we just sit here and wait for Voldemort to attack us?" she demanded. Harry nodded heavily.  
  
"Unfortunately, Ginny, yes," he replied. "I don't believe he can afford to let this opportunity pass. He must get Fred back, and he must get him back before tomorrow night."  
  
"And there's nothing we can do to pre-empt him? You know, get in first? Force him to fight the battle on our terms?" Ginny was twitching with frustration.  
  
"I wish there were," Harry replied regretfully, "but we've already done all we can to turn the situation to our advantage. And that's precious little, I grant you." There was a short silence.  
  
"Harry," Ginny began again, "there's something I'm still not terribly clear about." Harry smiled and took her hand gently.  
  
"Fire away," he said. "After all, we've got all night!" Ginny squeezed his hand and frowned slightly.  
  
"It's about the temple," she began. "I understand that it's one of the few places in the world that You-Know-Who can use to cross over into our dimension, but where did it come from? I mean, who built it and for what purpose? Did he build it himself when he was still in human form? Did someone else build it on his instructions?"  
  
"Now that's something I was curious about myself," Harry replied, aware that the others had fallen silent and were listening. "While Ron was researching the witch who sold this house to me, I was doing a little investigation of my own, at the Land Registry amongst other places. It turns out that there have only been three owners of this property: the original builder of the house, who was also the architect and lived here until his death; a Senior Officer in the British Army who served in India during the Raj; and, after his death, his eldest son." Harry paused to gather his thoughts.  
  
"It was the British Officer who interested me," he continued. "This man spent most of his active life in India, together with his family, and came home only when he retired. I made a few enquiries about him. He was, I think, a genuinely good man. During his time in India, he developed a deep sympathy with the Hindu faith, a sentiment which was shared by his family, in particular his eldest son. There are no planning records relevant to the temple, nothing official whatsoever, but together with the deeds of the house are purchase orders for building materials and letters of contract with local artisans. There are no plans or drawings, unfortunately. The eldest son must have assisted him in the building and design, and also by visiting India on at least one occasion to bring back the wonderful decorations, the paintings, wall hangings, statues, etc. Once the old man died, the eldest son sold up and went back to India, taking his family with him. In fact, there is some evidence to suggest that he had married a native woman, although I have my doubts on that issue."  
  
"Why?" Ginny was puzzled. "Surely that would make sense, I mean, they had to get their knowledge of the religion from somewhere."  
  
"Muggles are funny," Harry replied, to a murmur of agreement. "When the British were in India, they were the overlords, the conquerors. Even though it wasn't their country, they ruled it, and they looked on the Indians as inferior. For an Englishman of status to marry an Indian woman would have been anathema; it would have caused social uproar. He and his family would have become outcasts: neither the English nor the Indians would have accepted them." The gang stared at each other in amazement.  
  
"So marrying Parvati or Padma would have meant that none of our friends would have anything more to do with us?" It was Lee talking. George laughed.  
  
"Just don't tell Seamus then." There was a general chuckle.  
  
"After the eldest son took his family back to India," Harry continued, "the house was left empty for a while. It was then that my vendor took it on - she must be very old now, even for a witch."  
  
"Harry," asked Hermione, "you mentioned the Hindu religion. I've heard of it, having had a Muggle upbringing, but I suspect the others haven't. Do you know anything about it?"  
  
"Yes," acknowledged Harry. "Enough to provide some background anyway. Hinduism began as a sort of primitive village cult in Eastern societies, but it rapidly spread all over the world. It has many, many different gods, some more important than others, and new gods are being added to their number all the time. The three major deities, Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver and Shiva the Destroyer, form a kind of unit, but unlike Christianity, they are totally separate entities. They do not unite to form a Trinity, a three-in-one; they exist independently of each other, representing the three states of nature.  
  
"I think the fact that it was built along intersecting lines of power is no accident. Wizards exist in all walks of life, and if they are not caught and trained early, their magic will surface only haphazardly. Albus Dumbledore once confided to me that although the wizard world is aware of every single wizard from the moment of their birth, for many and various reasons, a large number of them live out their lives totally ignorant of their provenance. There are many religious leaders in Muggle history who are quite obviously sensitives, if not fully-fledged wizards, acting on instinct rather than training. I think our ex-army officer was one of those sensitives. He must have had talent in order to situate his temple in precisely the spot he chose, but I don't believe he had any evil intentions. No, I think Voldemort corrupted this temple, just as he corrupts every other worthwhile thing he touches. He was just lucky to find this place, all ready and waiting for him. Just incredibly lucky." Harry's face became bleak and bitter and he fell silent.  
  
The next couple of hours were spent in desultory conversation as the gang individually tried to get some rest. They all knew that sleep would be very difficult to attain, but it could do no harm to try, surely.  
  
Suddenly, without warning, they leaped to their feet, galvanized into action by an abrupt onslaught of thunder. The room seemed full of green fire, shooting into corners, bouncing off windows, filling the space with noise and light. Ginny shrieked in shock, but stayed put in the midst of her bedclothes. Hermione, most uncharacteristically, flung her arms around Ron and buried her head in his chest. George drew his wand, only to have it slapped away by Fred.  
  
"No magic, George!" he shouted. "Besides, I think if we wait a short time, we'll find it's not really necessary."  
  
Fred was right. As suddenly as it had begun, the green fire ceased, leaving the room in total silence.  
  
"What the hell was that?" spluttered Lee. Harry picked himself up off the floor, straightening his clothes.  
  
"If I read it correctly, Lee," he began, "it was the Avada curse, sent many, many times. It was meant to wipe us out completely." Harry smiled, grimly. "Voldemort is about to discover his mistake."  
  
But if Harry expected the Dark Wizard himself to come to inspect the damage, or at least to send a lieutenant, he was disappointed. Nothing happened, and as the minutes turned into hours, the gang began to settle themselves again.  
  
Harry had advised them to at least lie on their bedding, to give their bodies a chance to relax. He himself appeared, at first sight, to be sleeping: he was stretched on top of his bedding with his hands under his head, calm and relaxed, breathing deeply and evenly. Only his eyes gave him away. They were wide open and staring at nothing. Harry was in fact meditating using a technique taught to him by an elderly Buddhist during his travels in China. The method achieved a state of total muscular repose and lifted the consciousness to a level approaching sleep, but left the practitioner supernaturally sensitive to any disturbance, however small.  
  
"I'm thirsty," said Lee, hoarsely. "I wish we had a drink."  
  
Harry's early warning system had, in fact, started to react several minutes before and he sat up. Voldemort has realised that his attacks have achieved nothing, he thought. He's backtracked and he's starting small.  
  
"You're forgetting the water, Lee," he replied, gesturing to the bottles. "Sorry it's nothing stronger, I suspect we could all do with it."  
  
There was a murmur of agreement, and Lee, grabbing one of the bottles, gratefully sunk half of it in one go.  
  
Round one to us, thought Harry grimly, but he knew that this was only a practice run. There would be many more attempts to be thwarted before the night was over.  
  
The next attack came without warning a few minutes later. Fred suddenly gave a cry of distress and rolled over into the foetal position on the floor, hugging his knees and shaking.  
  
"C-cold," he muttered, between chattering teeth. "F-freezing cold."  
  
"Quickly!" snapped Harry. "Ron, the blankets. Cover him. I should have suspected this would happen fairly early on."  
  
He helped wrap all the spare blankets they had over the shaking Fred in the hope of easing the fever.  
  
"Fred is the weakest of all of us because of his prolonged exposure to Voldemort during his capture," he murmured worriedly. "And as the ultimate target of these attacks, he's bound to be the worst affected."  
  
At that moment, Fred gave a convulsive shudder and collapsed into total immobility. George made a wordless exclamation and turned him over, looking up to find Ginny by his side. Together, they manoeuvred Fred into coma position, then Ginny checked his pulse and respiration and tucked the blankets back around him, sitting back on her heels.  
  
"He's unconscious," she told them. "I suspect the strength of the attack was too much for his weakened state. It's the best thing really. If he stays out of it for the rest of the night, he'll be beyond Voldemort's reach." Harry nodded at her.  
  
"George?" he said. The redhead looked towards him. "Can I ask you to babysit? Someone needs to be responsible for Fred and to alert the rest of us if and when he wakes."  
  
George nodded seriously and turned to where Fred was lying.  
  
"I think we had better get back to our places," said Harry to the others. "As you can see, Voldemort has already begun his onslaught and, according to my watch, it's only 11.00pm. There's a lot of night still to come, and he may not even stop with the dawn." If we last out that long! he added silently.  
  
There was a long period of inactivity after Fred's collapse. Ginny, curled up next to Harry, seemed to fall into a light doze. George, kneeling next to Fred, kept careful watch on his brother, checking his pulse, breathing and temperature regularly. Lee lay stretched out on his back staring at the ceiling, his lips moving faintly. Working through some computer calculation, probably, thought Harry. Hermione and Ron talked for a while in low tones, but now merely sat together in companionable silence. Ron appeared to be debating something. Abruptly, with an air of finality, he rose to his feet and walked deliberately over to Harry.  
  
"That's it," Ron said, belligerently. "I've had enough of this. I'm tired, hungry, chilly and uncomfortable. I'm fed up with lying here on a cold hard floor making a fool of myself for no reason at all. I'm going out of that door into the study to make myself a drink, then I'm going to Apparate home to my bed. And I suggest the rest of you do likewise."  
  
Harry looked up at Ron calmly enough, but his insides were churning with anxiety: this was a different kind of attack.  
  
"Ron," he began, "are you still not convinced that we are, even now, under attack by Voldemort? That your brother is in great danger? You saw what happened to Fred."  
  
Ron shook his head stubbornly.  
  
"I think it's all a load of bull," he returned bluntly. "Fred just had - some sort of fit, that's all. If You-Know-Who was going to attack us, he'd do it in broad daylight with curses and hexes and goodness-knows-what. He must be laughing himself sick at the thought of us spending the night lying here on the floor. Well, I've had enough - I'm off!"  
  
Harry pushed his bedclothes aside and rose to his feet.  
  
"Ron," he said again, putting hands on the taller man's shoulders, "we've been friends for a very long time, yes?" Ron nodded, unwillingly. "And you may very well be wiser than me. You may know in your heart that Voldemort will not attack us tonight, that all these preparations are so much nonsense. However, I, as your friend, will freely admit to being very frightened that Voldemort will indeed attack us tonight. So, for the sake of our friendship, I ask you to put up with the discomfort and stay with me here, for as long as it takes. Will you do that for me?"  
  
Ron scowled, then shrugged off Harry's hands.  
  
"Well, since you put it that way, I can't really do anything else, can I?" Ron muttered ill temperedly, stomping back to his bedding. Harry lay down again, suppressing a small smile: Voldemort really didn't understand such things as friendship and loyalty, even though he seemed to make much of the latter quality. Defeating that particular assault had been really very simple. But Harry was not given further time to gloat, for the next attack was already on them. There was a sudden sharp tapping on the window, startling Hermione into a small scream.  
  
"George?" came a familiar voice, "George, are you in there?" Ron stared at George and Ginny, his mouth open.  
  
"It's Mum!" he hissed, "What in Merlin's name is she doing here?"  
  
"George!" continued the voice. " George, are you there? I need your help. It's your father; he's had an accident. Hurry up and open the door. Come on, let me in!"  
  
Automatically, George swung towards the patio doors, preparing to open them when Harry caught hold of his arm.  
  
"George, no!" he said forcefully. "That's not your mother!"  
  
"What are you talking about Harry?" George began indignantly, trying to shake him off. "Do you think I don't know my own mother's voice?" Harry refused to let go.  
  
"I tell you that is not your mother!" he insisted, "And if you open the door to look, you will find something very different waiting for you to let it in - and it will be the last thing you ever see!"  
  
The Weasleys froze in horror, listening to the uncannily accurate imitation of Molly Weasley while the voice pleaded, cajoled and finally ceased in a trailing wail that set the hairs on the backs of their necks bristling.  
  
"Get into a circle around Fred!" barked Harry, urgently. "Backs to the middle, facing outwards. I think Voldemort is about to take off his kid gloves. Whatever you do, don't leave the room!"  
  
The gang huddled together, frightened eyes darting around the room.  
  
"What's that?" hissed Hermione, pointing to a corner of the room where the shadows seemed somehow distorted, as if through a lens. The gang watched in horrified fascination as the very air seemed to coalesce and thicken into a dark shape, which rapidly developed into a human figure.  
  
"Wormtail!" spat Harry, in disgust. "How many times do I have to kill him before he lies down? Hermione - NO!" Hermione had instinctively pulled out her wand and was about to hex the Deatheater. Harry grabbed her arm before she could release the curse.  
  
"Sorry, Hermione, but no magic - please!" he begged. "If just one of your curses should hit the barrier, we're finished." Hermione nodded, white- faced and trembling.  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry, I forgot." Harry patted her arm.  
  
"Perfectly natural reaction." he replied, turning to face the Deatheater with a determined expression. He spread his arms wide.  
  
"Your move, Wormtail," Harry said simply, and waited.  
  
Wormtail seemed to take his time. He walked all around the room checking the doors and windows, examined the small closet in the corner, peered at their bedding and supplies of food and water. Suddenly he gave a low hiss.  
  
"You seem to have thought of most things," he said with grudging respect. Harry shrugged.  
  
"We aim to please," he responded lightly. Suddenly Wormtail raised his wand.  
  
"Incendium deflagro!" he shouted, sending bolts of searing orange light at the gang. Reflexively, Harry dropped to the floor like a stone, dragging Ginny with him. The others followed suit, stifling yells of surprise. The attack hit the invisible barrier and burst into a shower of sparks, momentarily defining the limits of the bubble as it did so. It bounced back towards the hapless Wormtail who shrieked, ducking the various magical fragments.  
  
"Did you see that?" shouted Lee getting to his feet. "He can't get his Inferno curse past our bubble - he's powerless!"  
  
It certainly appeared that way. But Wormtail had decided that enough was enough: he sheathed his wand and began to dematerialise.  
  
"He's given up!" crowed Lee. "One up to us!"  
  
Privately, Harry thought that might be putting their achievement rather too high, but he had no time to ponder as the next onslaught was already upon them.  
  
"Ginny? Ginny, what on earth are you doing here with these weirdos? Come on, let's get out of here and go home."  
  
Ginny's face drained of all colour and she clamped a hand firmly over her mouth to stifle a scream.  
  
"David?" she choked quietly, incredulously. There was a movement in the shadows, and suddenly the figure of David Markland was standing in the room, Armani suit, Gucci shoes, immaculately groomed as always.  
  
"I've come to take you home, Ginny," it said, holding out a hand to the terrified girl. She shook her head, slowly then more insistently.  
  
"No, no," she whispered. "We split up, David. You dumped me when you found out I was a witch. This is my home now." The figure smiled gently.  
  
"It was a big shock, Ginny, you must admit that," it said. "Was it surprising that I needed time to digest what you'd told me? Time to work it all out? Come home, Ginny: let's start again." He extended his hand towards the redhead and, to the gang's horror, Ginny actually started to move towards him.  
  
"No!" whispered Harry, his mouth suddenly dry. The shade of David Markland smiled more broadly, beckoning to Ginny, reaching to grasp her hand, when suddenly it stretched too far and touched the invisible barrier. The facial features contorted with pain and rage, flowing away like melting candle wax. For a fleeting moment, the figure became something totally inhuman before dissolving quickly away into nothing. Ginny turned away, burying her face in Harry's shoulder.  
  
"It was a manifestation," Harry explained calmly, holding her tightly. "It wasn't real, Ginny. Voldemort can delve into the surface of our minds, but we instinctively prevent him from reading us any more deeply. He made that construct out of your memories of David. You saw how quickly it was destroyed by our Bubble."  
  
Suddenly, a choking sound alerted the gang to another assault, swiftly on the heels of this last one. Lee lay on the floor, his hands to his throat, his face rapidly changing colour from his normal healthy lustre to a greyish tinge. Hermione gave a cry and dropped to her knees. She looked up.  
  
"It's magic now, Harry, or he dies." she said grimly, "I have to do it."  
  
Harry nodded tensely. Hermione produced her wand for the second time that night and steadied herself to perform the counter curse. At the last moment, she made a slight alteration to the incantation, making the spell specific to Lee, and launched it at him. Abruptly, Lee gave a violent lurch, then collapsed, drawing in gulps of air in great whooping gasps. Ron and Harry propped him into a sitting position.  
  
"That was well thought of, Hermione." said Harry, patting Lee's back gently. "In a crisis like that, I don't think I would have had the presence of mind to personalise my spell." She shrugged.  
  
"It just seemed like a good idea at the ." Hermione glanced over his shoulder and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my wand! Harry - look!" The entire gang swung round and were completely struck dumb. There in front of them, fragile and vulnerable, stood Cho Chang.  
  
It was as though they had been frozen into statues, all of them. Ron, his arms wrapped protectively around Hermione, stared dumbly in amazement; Lee still lay prone on the floor, breathing harshly and raspingly; Ginny drew back from the manifestation into George's reassuring bulk, her small fists clenched. Slowly, Harry stood up and surveyed the small figure before him.  
  
"What do you want?" he said, tonelessly. Cho Chang smiled at him and her lovely face lit up.  
  
"Harry! Oh, Harry, I've missed you so much!" she cried, holding out her arms. Harry didn't move, nor did he smile. She hasn't changed at all, he thought. Cho Chang was still nineteen, slim and extremely pretty in an active, athletic sort of way, just as she had been when he saw her alive for the last time.  
  
"You're dead," Harry said, tonelessly. "I saw your body on a mortuary slab. It was you alright, I should know." Cho's face assumed a solemn, sorrowful expression.  
  
"Harry, I know you thought you saw me in the mortuary," she began. "But it wasn't me, truly. You-Know-Who kidnapped me. He stole me away and put a Glamour on someone else to make it look like I had died." Harry was shaking his head.  
  
"I put an Out of Harms Way charm on you," he told the figure. "It was unbroken when I identified you. That's how I knew you hadn't died by accident."  
  
"Harry," Cho's voice was urgent, "he knew about the charm, don't you see? He duplicated it on my stand-in and fooled you."  
  
"It was a particular variant I designed myself," Harry insisted, his voice rising in pitch. "It had my hallmarks all over it like fingerprints, even the bits I had to rework slightly were there. It was my charm, Cho; you died that day." Cho was shaking her head vehemently.  
  
"No, no, Harry!" she protested. "I swear to you that he duplicated your charm. I'm real, Harry, as real as you are. Come, touch me, prove it to yourself."  
  
Cho held out a hand and Harry, feeling his muscles react in reflex, dragged himself back just in time. Cho's face was disappointed.  
  
"You don't trust me," she said sorrowfully.  
  
"Too right I don't!" Harry raked a despairing hand through his hair. "Okay, Cho, or whatever you are. What do you want from me?" The delicate figure drew itself upright.  
  
"Okay, Harry, if you want to play it that way." Cho's expression was sad. "You-Know-Who wants a trade. He's prepared to make an exchange for the life of Fred Weasley."  
  
"Oh?" replied Harry, warily. "And what exactly do I get for handing over one of my oldest friends to an enemy not exactly known for his justice or mercy?"  
  
"You get me," Cho said, standing tall but with her voice quavering. "You get me back in full physical health with all my memories intact. Think of it, Harry!" Her eyes lit up.  
  
"You've pined for me for years - now you could have me back! After all, you were the one responsible for my death in the first place, weren't you?" Cho's voice took on a persuasive, wheedling quality. "And Cedric's too, don't forget. After all, if you hadn't got Cedric killed in that stupid Triwizard Tournament, I'd probably never have agreed to get involved with you at all. But you persuaded me into it eventually - and then you got me killed too. Don't you think you owe me something after all that?"  
  
Harry didn't answer. Ginny looked towards him and her heart froze. Harry's face was distorted with pain and grief, but underneath all that anguish, she could just catch a glimmer of hope, a tiny ray of longing that had never quite been extinguished over the long intervening years. Harry hung his head in agony, unable to speak.  
  
"No," Ginny whispered, grappling for her wand. "No, you can't do this!" The thin piece of wood slid from its sleeve pocket into her hand, her lips framed a curse, she pointed her wand straight at the figure of Cho Chang.  
  
But she wasn't quick enough. Another wand had been drawn, an incantation shouted in anger, a curse launched straight at the figure of Cho Chang, breaking the protective bubble, their one defence against the Dark Lord!  
  
Instantly, Cho ducked, easily evading the curse, and her face broke into an evil, triumphant grin as she swept her wand from her sleeve with a flourish.  
  
"Come forth, servants of the Dark Lord: I summon you to destroy those who would stand in our way!" she shrieked in a changed voice, holding her wand aloft and throwing lightning flashes around the room.  
  
Abruptly, the room seemed to be full of people; cloaked and hooded people who exuded a horrible triumphant menace. As Harry spun around, breathing heavily, looking this way and that, he realised that a ring of Deatheaters surrounded them. Their protection was gone, and there was no escape.  
  
Ginny screamed in horror as David took shape once more, still suave and sophisticated, but his face etched with delighted malice. As the noise and thunder from Cho's wand increased, Harry and the others found their attention held by something much larger and scarier beginning to appear.  
  
Just as they had seen it in the temple, a tall figure was gradually forming before their eyes, firstly as floating red lines of power, quickly joined and covered by an opaque surface, giving the illusion of solidity. The figure then began to gain certain characteristics - long, bony hands, skeletal features, black robes and flaming red eyes in a cruel, twisted face, which was at this moment alight with triumph. However, the figure seemed unable to achieve any real presence or stability; the image flickered like an uncertain lightbulb, or a very old newsreel. Meanwhile as the Deatheaters bowed their heads to the apparition, 'Cho' and 'David' flung themselves to the floor before the half-formed figure's feet.  
  
"Master!" 'Cho' cried, exultantly, gleefully, "Watch what I shall do in your name!"  
  
And while Voldemort was still taking shape, she pointed her wand at the cowering group of friends and crowed in exultation.  
  
"Thank you very much." she said silkily. "One of you has been remarkably foolish and has made my task a good deal easier than I expected. Now that one shall reap her reward - a swift and immediate death. Avada Kedavra!" Green fire jetted from Cho's wand, directly towards a petrified Hermione.  
  
And at that moment Harry Potter stood, his face grey with fatigue, pointed his wand towards Cho, and snapped in a clear, incisive voice eleven words that bore no relation to any language known to anyone present. There was a soundless explosion that briefly turned everything into a black and white negative. The figures of Cho, David, the Deatheaters and the not-yet-quite manifested Voldemort wailed in unbearable agony and seemed to collapse in on themselves, sucked into a rushing vortex of white winds. The others were knocked senseless to the floor by the impact.  
  
Then there was total silence, broken only by the distant sound of birdsong: dawn had come at last.  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	9. Chapter Nine The Last Battle

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
  
Chapter Nine - The Last Battle  
  
Harry awoke wondering what on earth he had been doing the previous evening to warrant such a monumental hangover. He opened gritty, sticky eyes to focus blearily on the white circle of Ginny's face swimming above him. She looked tired and ill, with huge black circles under her eyelids. As she saw him stir, she spoke over her shoulder to someone out of Harry's field of vision.  
  
"George, he's awake thank goodness!" Ginny turned worried eyes back to Harry.  
  
Harry rubbed a hand over his face and sat up, wincing as light from the room's chandelier lanced through his head. The first thing he noticed was that he was still in the West Room, but he could now see dull daylight through chinks in the curtains. Little by little, an unusual sound intruded upon his consciousness: an odd hoarse gasping, as though someone were labouring through a severe asthma attack without the benefit of salbutamol.  
  
"Ginny," he began, gingerly massaging his temples, "what's the noise?"  
  
Harry was horrified to see Ginny's eyes abruptly fill with tears.  
  
"Oh, Harry!" she cried, and buried her head in his shoulder. He held her close for a short while, then she started to speak.  
  
"It's just awful," Ginny said in a tight whisper. "Right at the end, when Cho - or rather, the thing that looked like Cho - was trying to get you to go over to the dark side, Hermione -"  
  
Ginny choked, trying to swallow a sob. Harry took her hands in his, squeezing the fingers urgently.  
  
"Yes, Ginny," he began rapidly, looking into her face. "Hermione tried to curse Cho, and it backfired. Yes, I know all that - I was there, remember?" Ginny nodded, trying hard to gain control of her voice.  
  
"Yes, of course," she whispered. "Well, when Hermione's curse hit the bubble, it - it broke."  
  
"Yes, yes, I know," Harry shook Ginny's hands lightly in agitation. He sighed, feeling the muscles ache all over his body.  
  
"The Invocation I used must have been at least partially successful," he continued. "After all, we're still alive." Ginny's smaller fingers all but crushed his hands.  
  
"Harry, will you listen!" she wailed. "Cho threw the death curse at Hermione. At the time, I thought you must have got in first with whatever magic you used to finally banish Voldemort and his allies, but when we woke up this morning, we found that Hermione was - was dead."  
  
Harry froze in appalled disbelief. Ignoring the pain in his head, he freed himself from Ginny's embrace and moved quickly to where Hermione lay, still and cold. Ron crouched over her, oblivious of anything else in the room. He did not touch the body in any way but merely stared at her pale, lifeless face. Tears streamed unashamedly down his cheeks in a more or less constant flow and his breath came in harsh sobs, tearing and painful. Lee stood by Ron's side, obviously at a loss to know what to do.  
  
"He's losing his voice," whispered Ginny coming up behind Harry. "He's been like this since he woke up."  
  
"Yeah, and that's not all, Harry." George came over. He looked drained and haggard. "They got Fred."  
  
Harry turned incredulous eyes on George at this further devastating blow and felt his stomach lurch with a sick foreboding. I've failed, his mind screamed at him. For all my vaunted power, my skills and training, I couldn't protect them. Harry Potter sank to his knees in utter weariness and buried his face in his hands.  
  
As far as morale went, there wasn't much further for them to go down. Incessant sobbing had deprived Ron of the ability to speak. He refused to leave Hermione's side, staring emptily at her dead face, hugging his shoulders and rocking himself in agony. George was inconsolable: charged with protecting his helpless brother, he had let the powers of darkness snatch Fred from under his nose. He acted as though he had lost his right arm and was still numb from the shock. Lee's analytical brain seemed unable to process the events of the previous evening, but it was Harry who ultimately seemed to be taking the brunt of the tragedy on his shoulders. Brooding darkly, he sat cross-legged in a corner of the West Room, speaking to no one, his mind going round and round in panicked fugues. There seemed to be no way forward.  
  
Some little time later, Ginny decided she'd had enough. Someone had to make some kind of stand here, and despite all their prior courage and bluster, not one of the men was capable of fighting his way out of a wet paper bag at present. Whatever complexities had entered her life since her unexpected liaison with Harry, she simply couldn't allow her own wounded feelings to interfere with the safety of her family. Despite their easygoing exterior, all the Weasleys had come equipped with a core of toughened steel, and the youngest was no exception. Accustomed to making her way by persuasion rather than fiat, Ginny was surprised to find her resolve hardening. Leadership material she wasn't, but right now she seemed to be all they had left.  
  
Bullying Harry, Lee and George out of the West Room to shower and change their clothes was a good introductory lesson for Ginny in the art of giving orders. Ron, of course, refused to move or even to hear her, but eventually, using a combination of persuasion and downright threats, she cajoled him into observing some of the niceties of hygiene. Ginny then headed for the kitchen, mentally planning a good, hot lunch to restore some lost energy. Exploring the depths of the larder and fridge, she assembled the makings of a halfway decent meal. Once we've got some food inside us, things will seem less desperate, she thought hopefully. Drawing back the curtains from the large kitchen window, she paused in surprise.  
  
"Well, that's something you don't often see in high summer!" she muttered to herself in puzzlement.  
  
Lee Apparated to the flat to procure some clean clothes for Ron and himself. Half expecting the place to be dominated by incessantly ringing messageglobes and piles of owl post, he was surprised to find everything orderly and rather eerily quiet. Glancing out of the window, he scratched his head, perplexed; the street was blanketed by a thick white cloud. Dense, glutinous fog, impenetrable and totally unseasonable, made the city unrecognisable.  
  
"I don't like this." Lee muttered, flattening his nose against the glass. "I don't like this at all."  
  
Back at Harry's House, Ginny's chilli con carne turned out to be surprisingly tasty, but for all the attention the men paid, it could have been sawdust and cardboard. When they had finished all they were going to eat, Ginny put down her glass of juice gently but decisively.  
  
"Okay," she said quietly, "What's the next step?"  
  
Lee stared in amazement bordering on stupefaction.  
  
"You want to go on, to continue with this - this downright stupidity, after what happened last night?" he protested. "We don't stand an earthly. A mouse would have a better chance taking on a manticore. Ginny, he flattened us! How we escaped with our lives, I'll never know. And you can sit there, cool as a cucumber, talking about our next step? Our next game of dice with death?"  
  
"Certainly I can," Ginny replied firmly, skewering Lee with the directness of her glare, "because I must. One of my very best friends has been brutally murdered and I'm going to miss her badly." She paused to let that sink in before continuing. "However, before I grieve for her, I want to do my damnedest to ensure that whoever is responsible pays for what they have done. My brother's life also stands on a knife-edge, at the mercy of Hermione's killer. Think about that for a moment. What do you suggest we do, Lee? Abandon Fred? Consign him to the scrapheap? Just one more loss; one more casualty to Voldemort's lust for power? For Merlin's sake, do you think he'd back off if it were you and not him that Voldemort chose to take? You can bet your bottom dollar he wouldn't even dream of it!" Ginny sat back, her eyes fixed on the computer wizard until he looked away abashed.  
  
"And besides," Ginny continued in a quieter voice, "if we don't get moving soon, George will try to find Fred on his own." She paused to smile at her sibling, getting a faint twitch of the lips in reply.  
  
"I know my brothers very well, thank you," Ginny continued, "and I can assure you that they look after each other's interests to almost ridiculous levels. I'm not about to let him go off half-cocked and get himself killed, now am I?" She silenced George's feeble attempt at a protest with a look.  
  
"So, I'll ask again," Ginny concluded, turning to fix each and every one of them with her stare. "What have we got to go on?"  
  
There was a clatter as Harry dropped a teaspoon in his mug of half-cold tea. He sighed wearily and gave her a look almost of dislike.  
  
"Alright, Ginny," Harry said tiredly. "Alright, you've made your point." He sat up in his chair and put a hand to his forehead as if trying to coax his brain to come online.  
  
"Well, the first thing to do is to find Hermione's notes," Harry said finally. "I guess they must be in her study."  
  
A muscle at the side of Ron's face twitched slightly at the mention of Hermione's name, but otherwise he betrayed no reaction. Ginny held up a small notebook.  
  
"Check," she replied. "What do you need to know?"  
  
"The exact time of the next conjunction," Harry answered. "Also the other points in the world where lines of power intersect. He's not going to use the temple again, not after last night, so he's got to find somewhere else to make the transfer. Hermione should have recorded details of her conversations with Professors Sinistra and Radcliffe. You can use them to calculate other intersection points, Ginny. I suggest when you look for correlations you confine yourself to England and the rest of the British Isles. The closer the better. I don't suppose Voldemort will want to cause Fred's body any more distress than necessary, so he'll only move as far away from here as he has to."  
  
"Okay then," said Ginny, closing the notebook and gesturing to Lee with a kind of grim efficiency. "Let's get moving. Come on Lee, get that immense brain of yours in gear and help me!" With Lee in tow, Ginny swept out of the kitchen and into Hermione's study, closing the door behind them.  
  
Harry rose from the table then paused, looking down at Ron. Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.  
  
"Ron," Harry began in a low voice. Ron grunted, but otherwise gave no sign. Harry continued.  
  
"Ron, I've got to do a couple of things - for Hermione you know."  
  
Ron's head jerked up at the mention of her name.  
  
"Don't you touch her!" he said in a low, hoarse voice. "You mustn't do anything to her body now, please. She's been through enough, hasn't she? Let her rest in peace." Harry tightened his grip on Ron's arm.  
  
"I've got to use a couple of enchantments, Ron," said Harry, gently. "To make sure that Voldemort can't use her body for evil means."  
  
"What do you mean?" demanded Ron, looking at Harry for the first time. "That bastard can't touch her now, can he? I mean, she's - she's dead, isn't she?"  
  
Fresh tears began to well up and Harry patted his friend's shoulder awkwardly.  
  
"I have to make sure he can't reach her," Harry explained. "We can't take her with us when we leave this house, Ron. We'll have to leave her here alone. I need to make sure that Voldemort can't move her anywhere else, or even try to - reanimate her."  
  
"You mean like a - zombie?"  
  
Harry nodded gravely. Ron considered for a moment and an expression of extreme distaste rippled across his face. He looked back at his friend.  
  
"Do what you must," Ron said quietly. "I don't want him to abuse her body, particularly now she can't defend it herself."  
  
Harry nodded, gave Ron's shoulder a final pat then went to perform the necessary tasks.  
  
After a while, George went in search of Harry. He admitted to himself that he was curious about the measures Harry needed to take to ensure the safety of Hermione's remains, but he was also anxious for Harry himself. That concern underwent a manifold increase at his first sight of Harry, still in the West Room, standing above Hermione's lifeless body gazing at her familiar, well-loved face.  
  
Harry had evidently finished whatever spells he needed to cast, but he made no attempt to leave. He merely stood shaking his head over and over again, deep in grief and remorse.  
  
"Hermione," he murmured. "Oh, Hermione, my friend, forgive me; I failed you. Ron, I'm so sorry." He buried his face in his hands in heartfelt grief, his shoulders heaving.  
  
"Ron knows it wasn't your fault." George spoke quietly, leaning a hand on Harry's shoulder, trying not to alarm him. Harry started violently and spun round, shaking off the consoling hand with unnecessary vehemence. He turned towards George with a face so full of anger and loathing that the other man took an involuntary step backwards.  
  
"Not my fault?" Harry spat, his voice dripping with self-contempt. "Not my fault? If I hadn't been so damn rattled by that manifestation of Cho Chang, I'd have noticed the attack on Hermione. You know how levelheaded she was; she would never have made such an elementary mistake if she hadn't been got at! I should have twigged when she was so wand-happy earlier on. I screwed up, George, it's as simple as that. I screwed up - and Hermione paid the price."  
  
The last was grated out through clenched teeth and Harry turned away, falling silent, gazing at Hermione with an anger and despair terrible to behold. George swallowed on a dry, tight throat then he grabbed Harry roughly and swung him round so that their faces were inches apart.  
  
"Now you just listen to me," he began, deadly quiet. "You're our leader, our oracle of all wisdom, the one we all look up to. Certainly you screwed up; most leaders do once in a while if they're worth their salt, and You- Know-Who is no Sunday-school picnic. Yes, if you'd done things differently, Hermione might still be alive; I'll buy that. But I might not still be here - or you, or Ron, or Ginny, or Lee, or any number of the millions of other people who are on this planet, wizards and Muggles alike." George paused to draw breath, and went on.  
  
"Whatever happened last night, we've still got to keep on fighting, and we can't do it without you. You're the one person we just can't afford to lose: we need you to safeguard Ron and the Grail, and to plan out what we're going to do next, never mind provide the leadership in the final battle. If you collapse on us, then we might as well write off Fred's life as well as Hermione's. Just accept that they both died for nothing, and sit on our arses waiting for the end." Seeing a flicker of reaction on Harry's face, George pressed home his advantage.  
  
"Harry, Ginny and Lee are beating their brains out trying to get a fix on those calculations. Once we've worked out where to go, we've got to have some kind of a plan. Some idea what to do when we get there." George was virtually spitting in his vehemence. "This is my brother's life we're talking about, not to mention the future of the civilised world. Come on Harry: think!"  
  
George was shaking Harry so hard the man was beginning to see stars. Eventually, Harry exerted enough pressure on George's biceps to free himself from the painful grip.  
  
"Okay, okay, George: you've made your point."  
  
George released him, wincing as he rubbed at the bruises on his upper arms. Harry looked up. His face was haggard from strain and lack of sleep, there were deep shadows under his eyes, but his expression was calm and his eyes at last were clear. Harry Potter was a going concern once again. George expelled a soft sigh of relief.  
  
"Okay," he said, quietly. "What first?" Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully.  
  
"Ginny, Lee and Hermione's notes," he replied succinctly, "and if they are not fruitful, perhaps an emergency Apparation to Florence to consult the good Professor Radcliffe again might be in order."  
  
On arrival back in the kitchen, they found Ginny and Lee buried in Hermione's notebook scribbling calculations on some scrap parchment.  
  
"We're in luck, Harry," Ginny greeted him. "Hermione had already made some preliminary calculations. We've found only two possible places, and one of those is a far weaker intersection than the other. I'd put very good odds on the first."  
  
Harry looked carefully at their results and nodded.  
  
"I'm inclined to agree," he affirmed. "Well done! You're sure there are no others?"  
  
"Positive." Lee was totally dogmatic where he knew himself to be right.  
  
"Where is it exactly? Geographically, I mean," asked Harry. Ginny was already checking an atlas.  
  
"Not too far, actually," she told him. "Near Amesbury on Salisbury Plain. It's quite a tourist attraction so we'll have to be careful." She looked up at them, the beginnings of a smile tweaking the corners of her mouth. "Believe it or not, it's at Stonehenge."  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
The rest of the day was something of a blur, a haze of preparation. Harry had snapped straight back into his customary decisiveness and, by a mixture of encouragement and downright bullying, achieved his object.  
  
They would drive to Amesbury, Harry proclaimed. There was no way they could Apparate even half the distance and still be in a fit state to rescue Fred, so they would have to travel the distance in his car instead.  
  
"Why don't we just Port there?" suggested George. "Fred's Ministry Portkey's still at the flat; I know where he keeps it. All we need to do is set it to take us to Amesbury, or somewhere far enough away to be circumspect and Bob's your uncle!" Harry shook his head.  
  
"No, George," he replied firmly. "The last thing we need is to alert Voldemort to our presence. Whether we can maintain the element of surprise remains to be seen, but I want to keep as low a profile as possible. As from now, we are tourists travelling in the West Country."  
  
George backed down, but he was evidently not happy with the situation. During a suitable pause, he grabbed hold of Harry's arm and propelled him over to the window.  
  
"You must have noticed this, but I guess you've been rather too preoccupied to take it in," George said, gesturing to the impenetrable greyness inches away from their faces. Harry frowned. He reached out an involuntary hand to the window.  
  
"This is - not right," he muttered.  
  
"I'm with you there!" replied George with some heat. "And you expect me to drive through this all the way to Somerset - in Fred's titchy little car! Harry, we'll never get there; we'll be lost or crushed in a pile-up before we've covered half the distance." Harry's index finger tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully.  
  
"Okay," he said, making a decision. "We'll hire a bigger car; something with a four-wheel drive, an off-road vehicle, so if we get caught in traffic, we'll have some means to avoid it." George shook his head slowly.  
  
"Harry it'll take too long," he protested. "We'll waste the rest of the day hanging around Muggle car-hire places. By the time we find Fred, if we ever do, it'll be too late!"  
  
"May I make a suggestion?" Ginny approached them determinedly, having caught the tail-end of their conversation.  
  
"What you're looking for is a Landrover or a Jeep - something like that, yes?" she asked. George nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied. "And they don't just hand those out without checking your bona fides pretty thoroughly first." Ginny smiled, not without malice.  
  
"Strangely enough," she began, "I think I know just where to find one."  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"Flamel's Stone!" Lee clapped a hand over his mouth as Ginny swung the big Jeep into the driveway of Harry's House, spraying gravel over his feet. Her face obstinate and determined, she opened the driver door and jumped down, slamming it after her.  
  
"Where on earth did you get it?" Lee demanded, his eyes taking in every square inch of the high-performance car.  
  
"Never you mind." Ginny brushed past him, moving smartly over to George and Harry, her head held high.  
  
"Good enough, boys?" she asked sardonically. Harry nodded, his eyes alight with admiration.  
  
"Too right, it is!" he responded with a grin. "I won't ask how you did it, Ginny, but, well, thanks. Thanks a million." He crossed over to the car and opened the boot in preparation for stowing their gear. George looked down at his little sister suspiciously.  
  
"If I didn't know better," he said in a low voice, "I'd say that vehicle was borrowed. Does he know?" Ginny shrugged negligently.  
  
"He'll know soon enough," she replied, in an offhand manner, "but by then, we'll be far enough away for it not to matter." George shook his head.  
  
"I'd always thought it was the male Weasleys who were guilty of sailing close to the wind," he said.  
  
"If he didn't want me to drive it, he should never have given me a key," Ginny replied impassively. "After all, the only time he let me take the wheel was on long journeys." She gave a wry smile. "He use to fall asleep in the front passenger seat."  
  
"Seriously, Ginny," George caught her arm. "Do you really think you should be doing this?" Shaking him off, Ginny faced her elder brother, her face implacable.  
  
"This is the quickest way I can think of to get down to Stonehenge and rescue Fred, bar Apparating," she growled. "If you don't like it, you're welcome to stay here and defend my honour, but if you want to be part of this, then I suggest you shut up and get in!" Holding up his hands in mock- dismay, George backed away, moving towards the driver door. Casually, he held his hands out for the keys.  
  
"And if you think you're driving this thing when the only vehicle you're familiar with is Fred's old banger," Ginny shot back, "you need to spend some time in a soft room at St. Mungo's. Get in the passenger seat and start map reading - you can take over when you've worked out what the controls do!"  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
Ginny had planned the route, provided food for the journey and prompted Lee to pick up his, Ron's and the twins' voicemail and phone in messages to their various departments at the Ministry. Ron himself could not be roused from his catatonic stupor.  
  
Ginny also drove the first leg with George map reading, this last task made almost impossible by the weather conditions. The impenetrable blanket of fog covered the entire south and west of the country. The road conditions were potentially extremely hazardous and Ginny drove in an edgy silence for forty-five minutes before the gang realised that they had scarcely seen a car since leaving London. The sole topic of news interest on every Muggle radio station was the unseasonable weather and the gang endured more than an hour of mindless chit-chat before George irritably pushed the off switch.  
  
Lee and Harry sat in the back of the car with Ron between them, trying in vain to stir some life into him. For most of the time, Ron was immovable, locked inside his own mind. Then suddenly, out of the blue, he turned to Harry and spoke with great clarity.  
  
"It wasn't anything to do with you that Hermione and I split up, you know."  
  
"Huh?" Harry was puzzled. Ron continued.  
  
"I know you blamed yourself," he sighed. "We had to spend a lot of time with you when Cho - you know, but it had nothing to do with the relationship going down the tube. I buggered that one up all on my own."  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry was still puzzled.  
  
"Oh, we'd been going out for two years, and Hermione wanted some sort of commitment," Ron continued. "She wanted to know whether we were going to get married, or drift apart. You know Hermoine; always well prepared for everything. You see, she wanted to try to plan her life. If we were going to get married, she wanted to have a family while we were still young and put her career on hold for a few years. However, if we weren't, she was going to study for the Bar straight after leaving Hogwarts. I was too young really to make a decision like that, so we split. Well, not immediately, but when it became clear that I wasn't going to put a ring on her finger while we were still at school, she more or less assumed that we would go our separate ways once we left. I precipitated the split by attempting to persuade her otherwise, I'm afraid." Ron gave a wry grimace.  
  
"She's a strong-minded person, is my Hermione." Ron paused, swallowed then continued in a lower voice. "Was a strong-minded person, I meant to say." His lower lip quivered then he seemed to deliberately take his mind off the hook again. Harry was unable to rouse Ron again for some hours.  
  
While the Range Rover ate up the miles, Harry spent the time trying to plan some kind of strategy to deal with Voldemort once they reached Stonehenge, but he found that his brain refused to function. He felt listless and vague, such indistinctness made worse by the blankness of the windows as the miles ticked by.  
  
"Shock probably." Lee answered succinctly when Harry mentioned his odd detachment. "I'm not feeling entirely myself either. Let's be honest: it would take someone with a will of iron not to be affected by what happened last night."  
  
Oddly, it never once occurred to Harry during that long, tedious journey, that they might be wrong about the location, that their sudden ability to second-guess Voldemort might just be a little too convenient. Harry went over and over the possibilities, trying to jump-start his brain into putting together a suitable plan of action. However, short of turning up and launching into a full-scale sorcerous battle, he could come up with nothing even vaguely resembling a strategy. I'm losing my touch, he thought despairingly. Gritting his teeth, he went through their options for the fiftieth time.  
  
"Do you know anything about Stonehenge, Harry?" George broke into Harry's deliberations. "I know it's famous, but I've never been there and, apart from seeing the odd picture in the newspapers, I don't know very much about it. I presume it's magical - these things usually are. Do you know anything that might help us tonight?" George was now driver and was desperate for something to take his mind off the sea of grey just beyond his windscreen.  
  
"A little," Harry replied. "Stonehenge is a special place, a centre of magic so powerful that even some Muggles can sense it. It's really very old, you know. The first wave of building began in about 3,500 BC."  
  
"Wow!" Ginny's eyes were wide and interested. "But how did they build it without modern technology?" Harry smiled.  
  
"That's one of the major questions about Stonehenge. How did these primitive people transport blocks of stone weighing as much as 26 tons originating in Wales, where they were evidently hand-hewn, all the way to a site in the middle of Salisbury Plain? Even when they got them there, the massive job of erecting them in concentric circles, and also placing other huge blocks over the tops of them, like lintels on doorframes, seems inconceivable for primitive people. And the fact that the ancient Brits looked after their monument generation after generation - continuing with the building, repairing and nurturing what was already there - for two thousand years! Most of our buildings, even wizard maintained ones, scarcely last for more than a few hundred years. The other major question is what did they build it for?"  
  
He paused, steepling his fingers, deep in thought: Harry had snapped into university lecturer mode.  
  
"Most Muggle theories centre on the connection with the heavenly bodies," Harry told them. "In the 1960s, an eminent astronomer claimed to have proved that the ancients used Stonehenge as a kind of calculator for astronomical and astrological events. He discovered that certain of the key stones corresponded with certain events, such as the solstices and equinoxes, and thereby deduced that the ancients knew very much more about the heavens than we give them credit for - not to mention the science of construction!" Harry scratched his head with a wry smile.  
  
"Of course, what they don't know is that Stonehenge dates from a time when wizards didn't have to keep their existence secret from Muggles, quite the contrary. Muggles and wizards co-operated in the building of Stonehenge for a very definite purpose. This co-operation lasted for centuries, and Stonehenge was maintained, loved and looked after, until the Dark Ages, when magical people and creatures were persecuted and all but wiped out."  
  
Here Harry paused again, gathering his thoughts.  
  
"Stonehenge was deliberately built on intersecting lines of magic, just like the temple, which gave access to other worlds, other dimensions. The ancient wizards used these connections for knowledge, divination, the development of their own powers, and many other purposes. It wasn't all good, though. Some less scrupulous sorcerers used the access to create portals through which to summon supernatural beings, demons and elementals usually, to give themselves added power over other people, mainly Muggles. In fact, one could say that by doing this, they were responsible for the later persecution of the magical community. By subjecting the world to a virtual invasion of dark beings, far more powerful in this dimension than in their own, these dark wizards were a strong factor in the fall of civilisation and the descent into the Dark Ages. It was to drag Britain out of this primitive lawlessness that the laws proscribing magic and magical creatures were made and enforced - to the grief and suffering of the magical community throughout the world." There was a pause.  
  
"Probably just as well in the end," commented George, glancing away from the road for a moment. "If we still had to co-operate with Muggles, we'd never get anything done!"  
  
"Oh, I don't know, George," put in Lee. "Some wizards aren't all that good at decision-making either. Look at Cornelius Fudge. He's been sitting on the fence for so long he's got a permanent groove in his backside! And I hear that he was once a fairly decent wizard - of course, that was a long time ago. Considering his official line about Voldemort's return while we were still at school, I was surprised he managed to keep his job!"  
  
"Lee!" admonished Ginny, shocked, "This is your boss you're cheerfully slagging off!" Lee shrugged.  
  
"Only to you, and I've probably got enough on every one of you to ensure your silence!"  
  
The car erupted in sudden, relieved laughter, abruptly ceasing at a howl of anguish from Ron. He turned a furious face around his friends.  
  
"How can you do this?" he demanded, hoarsely. "How can you laugh and joke and make light of things? Don't you realise how serious the situation is? Don't you realise what it's already cost us? Hermione's . Hermione was ." He couldn't continue.  
  
"She was the best friend anyone ever had, Ron." Harry finished for him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "She was good, kind, brave and intelligent, but above all, she loved all of us and she gave her life to keep us safe." Ron was shaking his head miserably.  
  
"I loved her, you know," he burst out. "I loved her more than life. And I never told her; I let her get away. She went to her grave never knowing that in all my life, there was never anyone else."  
  
"She knew, Ron. She knew, and she loved you too."  
  
The words came from George. Unnoticed by the rest, he had carefully drawn into a layby and parked, keeping the engine running. Ron raised his head disbelievingly. George turned around in his seat and nodded forcefully.  
  
"You forget, I lived in the same house for a while," he continued. "I talked to her and listened to her problems when life was getting her down. She said there could never be anyone else for her; that you had always been the one she wanted to be with, but you had to find that out for yourself. She was waiting for you, Ron. She would have been there for you, if she'd lived."  
  
Ron stared at his brother in astonishment then buried his face in his hands.  
  
"Ron," continued George, urgently, "she wouldn't have wanted you to opt out like you're doing now. You know how much courage she had. She'd be gutted if she thought she was responsible for you crouching in a corner, so overwhelmed by your grief for her that you couldn't even help us fight her killer!"  
  
There was a tense silence after this chilly speech. Slowly Ron raised his head.  
  
"Alright, George, I get the picture," Ron said, in a low, rough voice. "I'm not about to stand around while you all rush in and get yourselves flattened - " He shifted awkwardly, winced and pulled a large package out of his pocket, staring at it in bewilderment. "- even if my main function in life seems to be to childmind a cup! What's this doing here?" It was the Grail, still wrapped in its supermarket polythene bag. Harry saw it and smiled.  
  
"You never bothered to take it out of your pocket," he replied cheerfully. "Now that's what I call being a guardian! I'm glad you brought it, Ron. Who knows - perhaps you were meant to."  
  
"You said it's a very powerful entity, Harry." George put the car into gear, and pulled out on to the road again. "What can it do? Would it be of help to us against Voldemort?" Harry shrugged and looked helpless.  
  
"Ron and I tried to research it and got absolutely nowhere," Harry sighed. "We would have visited Professor Radcliffe again, but time was too short. Anyway, from all we could discover, the Grail is a law unto itself. It is immensely powerful, but it can't be manipulated. It has great healing properties, but only through the attainment of self-knowledge. We can't use it, if that's what you mean, but it may possibly prove to be some sort of ally."  
  
"What if Voldemort should capture it?" Ginny's lovely face was anxious.  
  
"My dear, if Voldemort should get through the portal between the worlds and take possession of Fred's body, nothing will ever stop him again." Harry told her sombrely. "If he wants the Grail, he'll get it however we try to hide it."  
  
Ginny's heart sank, so much so that she scarcely noticed the endearment.  
  
It was late afternoon by the time they approached Amesbury, not that any of the gang could actually see any daylight through the fog. Harry was perversely reminded of Hermione's dinner party when he and Ginny had stood together looking out of the West Room windows at a truly beautiful sunset, the antithesis of this one. He sighed: the world had seemed a much more optimistic place such a short time ago.  
  
Lee had taken over as driver and was so unsure of the directions, he felt the need to check their position every minute or so. Finally, Ginny, who was stoically map reading, pointed out of the window.  
  
"There!" she exclaimed, as several vast standing stones loomed out of the mist. "Is that direct enough for you?" Lee drew the Jeep to a screeching halt at a dead end.  
  
"I can't get any nearer," he complained, peering into the murk at a closed gate with a warning notice attached to it. "We'll need to climb over fences, or something if we're going to get there on foot. Apparently a huge increase in tourists to the region during the nineteen-seventies resulted in serious erosion to the stones, so English Heritage fenced them off and you can only view them from a distance now."  
  
Harry slammed the boot shut and approached Lee carrying several long somethings and wearing a wide grin.  
  
"Forget wire cutters or bolt shears," he said smugly. "In this gloom, we'll be able to fly straight to the outer circle without being spotted by so much as a sparrow!"  
  
Lee looked down to find himself holding his own broomstick. Slowly, his face creased into a matching smile.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
"What do you think?" George passed the binoculars to Ron, the long grass tickling his nose as he moved. Peering through the lenses, Ron took a long look at the surrounding countryside and sighed.  
  
"Nothing," he replied. Ron was still pale and prone to periods of abstraction, but he was doggedly trying to suppress his grief and shock and act normally, at least until the crisis was over.  
  
"Not a dicky bird," agreed George. "They'd better hurry up. Sunset's only about an hour away, not that you'd notice in this murk!"  
  
George was right; the dampness of the air had seeped into their very bones, but they could discern no life among the stones as yet, only swirling tendrils of fog. Ron looked up as muted footsteps approached.  
  
"Anything yet?" Harry's face loomed out of the mist closely followed by Lee. George shook his head soberly.  
  
"Nothing. Just fog, stones and more stones." George got stiffly to his feet and held out a hand to Ron. The two brothers brushed grass from the jeans.  
  
"Right then." Ron handed the binoculars to Lee. "We'll drop by in half an hour, okay?" Harry and Lee crouched down in the long grass, trying to get comfortable. George and Ron retired to the shelter of a large rock near the ditch where they had stowed their gear. Presently, Ron got to his feet and wandered a little way over towards a field with sheep and a barbed wire fence. George watched him go, wondering whether to follow when Ginny appeared out of the mist. George smiled and patted the ground next to him.  
  
"Warm enough?" he asked. Despite the fact that it was high summer, the fog had taken all the heat out of the air. Ginny nodded.  
  
"Yes, thank you," she replied. "You know, it's not really particularly cold, it's just damp. Such odd weather, and all over the south of the country too!"  
  
"Yes," George replied speculatively, but he wasn't given a chance to hold forth on the British climate.  
  
"George?" Ginny's eyes were questioning.  
  
"Yes, sister mine?" responded George lightly with a smile.  
  
"Tell me, was that the truth?" Ginny asked bluntly. "You know, your conversation with Hermione about Ron? What you told him in the car?"  
  
George didn't answer immediately. He pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair then turned to look her straight in the eye.  
  
"No," he said, flatly. "I lied." Ginny nodded, her lips pressed firmly together.  
  
"I thought so," she replied. "Hermione never even spoke to me about Ron, so I very much doubt she'd have opened up to you. So why did you pretend that she had?"  
  
"To get Ron out of his stupor." George replied, simply. "To make sure he would be a bit more than the passenger he's been for the last few hours."  
  
"George!" Ginny was shocked. "How could you do that? To lie to someone who has just been so dreadfully bereaved - your own brother no less - just for the sake of - of."  
  
"Survival perhaps?" George finished in a very gentle voice, then took her shoulders between his huge hands and looked straight into her eyes. "Ginny, my own and only sister, do you really believe that after this evening any of us is likely to see daylight again?"  
  
A cold hand started to move down Ginny's spine and she stared dumbly at her brother. He smiled sadly and stroked a hand over her lovely hair.  
  
"Can you honestly trust that we're going to defeat Voldemort, even with the redoubtable Harry on our team, busily pulling rabbits out of hats like he's been doing for the past few days?" George smiled sadly. "You-know-who will crush us, Ginny, like flies in autumn, and with as much indifference. But we've got to try, don't you see? I know we can't win, but what's the alternative? Going back home and waiting for Voldemort to find us there? Just like Harry famously said before he went after the Philosopher's Stone, when he was only eleven: it's only dying a bit later than we would have done, because we're never going over to the dark side. So how much longer has Ron got on this earth? If a downright lie from a brother who loves him will make his last few hours more useful and bearable than they might have been, then I'll take that on my conscience gladly."  
  
Ginny looked away, tears welling up in her eyes. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Harry looking seriously at George.  
  
"Of course you're right, old friend," Harry said quietly. "We can't possibly win. All we can do is die heroically trying to save Fred, and you never know: we may actually weaken Voldemort before our time is up. Anyway, it's what I'm going to try to do before he kills me. It's the least I can do for Fred and Hermione."  
  
"I'm with you there!" George agreed, giving Harry a high five. The two men looked at each other uncertainly, then George reached out and pulled Harry into a rough embrace.  
  
"It was good, wasn't it?" George said in rather muffled tones. "Living together, working together, fighting the dark magic. We were a good team - weren't we?"  
  
"The best, George," replied Harry, his throat so tight he was virtually whispering. "No one was ever better!" He patted the other man on the back and pulled away, blinking slightly.  
  
"I came to tell you it's your watch," he continued, giving George time to recover. "Ron's already taken over from Lee. Nothing's happened yet."  
  
George nodded and walked off slowly, leaving Ginny gazing in bewilderment at Harry. He shrugged helplessly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ginny," Harry said sadly. "I wish I could conjure up some vague hope for us, but deep inside I know there's just no way I can take on Voldemort again and win. It was down to a few ancient spells I learned on my travels, and some incredible luck that we've made it this far. They know we're coming, I'm certain of that, and they'll show us no mercy. I've got no more tricks up my sleeve, just my love of life, and of all of you, my friends, and my determination not to let it all go without a struggle." Ginny looked up at him and smiled bravely.  
  
"Whatever happens, Harry, I'm glad we decided to fight back," she replied stubbornly. "I'd rather die resisting to the last than live on without my friends and my brothers, just waiting for the end." Harry smiled at her fondly and stroked a wayward tendril of hair away from her face.  
  
"You know, Ginny," he began thoughtfully, "I realised something last night, when that manifestation of Cho appeared. I realised that when she died, I was so convinced that it was my fault that I didn't allow myself to grieve for her properly. Over the years, I tried to forget her, but I could never quite escape the conviction that her love for me had caused her death. Last night was proof positive that, despite the Muggle car that crushed the life out of her, it was Voldemort who was really responsible for her death."  
  
Ginny held her breath lest she in some way shatter the fragile confidence beginning to emerge between them.  
  
"But last night," Harry continued, "when Voldemort offered her back to me in exchange for Fred, I knew that the hold she had on me was gone forever. It was Voldemort who took her in a very deliberate attempt to weaken me, and he had succeeded. Now he was trying to corrupt me using the same technique. I knew Cho was dead; I saw her body. But Voldemort thought I had sunk so low I would be satisfied with a facsimile. Pah!"  
  
Harry gave a sharp exclamation of disgust and suddenly pulled Ginny close against his chest. Tilting her chin towards him, he looked down into her face, his eyes wide and unshuttered.  
  
"He didn't know about you, about us; perhaps he still doesn't," he whispered. "Only you made it possible for me to resist that dreadful temptation."  
  
He began to kiss her - soft, blind kisses one might give a child who had woken in the night. Ginny leaned into his body, holding him hard as though she would never let him go.  
  
"I love you," she murmured. "I've always loved you - you know that."  
  
"Yes," he whispered into the fading light.  
  
~ooOoo~  
  
As the darkness deepened, the fog seemed to thin out a little and the new moon, slender as a lemon rind, began to appear sporadically between the patches of mist. George, who was on watch, eased stiffening limbs, grunted quietly then exhaled with relief.  
  
"They're here, Harry," he said quietly, passing the binoculars. "I'm positive I saw Wormtail."  
  
Harry drew a sharp breath at the sight of his old enemy once more, performed a careful sweep of the area and nodded to himself. He then turned to George.  
  
"Okay," he said, half-reluctantly. "I think this is where you do your stuff, George."  
  
The red-haired man nodded grimly then took off over the grass, quickly fading from sight.  
  
"Wha .. How ..?" Ginny spluttered looking first at Harry, then at the rapidly disappearing form of her brother. She planted her hands on her hips.  
  
"What's going on Harry? And don't tell me I don't want to know, because I do!" Harry's face creased into a smile at her determination.  
  
"Okay, Ginny, but I think you'd better make a promise to keep this dead secret, okay? You too, Lee - if you don't already know about it."  
  
Lee raised his eyebrows but made no further comment. Harry scratched his head.  
  
"Well," he began, "The plain unvarnished truth is that George is an animagus. So is Fred, actually."  
  
"What!" exclaimed Ginny, after a considerable pause. "But - they've never been registered or anything. How did this happen and when, Harry? It's a very difficult thing to become an animagus - how did my two lazy brothers manage to achieve it?"  
  
Harry had the grace to look a little shamefaced.  
  
"You remember that holiday they both took in California, all expenses paid by the Ministry because I was helping them perfect their Glamour art?" she nodded. "Well, we couldn't practice glamour charms all day, could we? So I sort of helped them out with the animagus magic. It all went remarkably smoothly, really."  
  
"What animals do they transfigure into?" asked Ginny, with interest. Lee guffawed.  
  
"Why don't you just take a guess, little sister?" he suggested, with a broad grin. Ginny thought for a moment.  
  
"Not weasels, surely?"  
  
"Got it in one!" Harry smiled. "So now, if by some incredibly lucky chance we manage to get out of this jam alive, you've got to keep very quiet indeed about this. If it gets out at the Ministry, your brothers will be carpeted for sure, and besides, once everybody knows about it, the element of surprise has gone. George is just doing a bit of recce for us - he'll be back within ten minutes or so."  
  
But he wasn't.  
  
Ginny was beginning to feel very odd. The strange, dream-like quality Lee had put down to shock seemed to have intensified as the light faded, and she found her eyesight adjusting, just as it had in the temple. She marvelled at the strange qualities she could see in the very rocks and vegetation around her, and when she looked towards the edifice of Stongehenge itself, the lines of power radiating from the stones were almost blinding in their intensity.  
  
Harry fidgeted, constantly glancing at his watch. Finally, he sighed.  
  
"We'll have to make a move or we'll be too late," he said. "George must have met with difficulties. We'll try to find him as we go."  
  
"Harry," Ginny grasped at his arm, her eyes full of the strange radiance. "It hasn't happened yet. I know it hasn't. Fred is still safe. Please don't do anything now."  
  
Harry stared at her in puzzlement.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked then cut off his own question. "We haven't got time for this, Ginny, I'm sorry. Let's get going - we've got to do something!"  
  
"Wait!" shouted Lee, "Our broomsticks! At least they'll give us a fighting chance!"  
  
"Yes!" replied Harry, with sudden energy. "Well done, Lee, at least someone's brain is still online! Okay, let's get to it."  
  
Ginny stood entranced, her head tilted slightly to one side as though listening intently for something. She paid no attention to the hustle and bustle going on around her. Her youngest brother approached with both their broomsticks  
  
"Here you are Ginny." Ron handed her the Firebolt. "Ginny?" he queried, uncertainly as she made no move to take it. Ron looked carefully into her face. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, staring at nothing.  
  
"There is power," Ginny said, faintly. "Great power in the earth. Power of rocks, stones, sky and sea. It - resists his advance. We must help, it's our only chance." Ron frowned.  
  
"Ginny, what are you talking about?" he protested. "We've got to go fight You-Know-Who now, so stop freaking out on me and get on your broomstick!"  
  
He flung the Firebolt at her and all but pushed her on to it. Mechanically, she kicked off from the ground and followed the others, but the strange out-of-this-world feeling would not leave her.  
  
As they circled above the massive structure, Harry could see that they were none too early. The place was crawling with Deatheaters and Fred was stretched out on a massive flat stone, manacles at his wrists and ankles. Wormtail had already begun the Summoning. Harry angled his broomstick to swoop down on the altar.  
  
The battle was short and decisive. It was clear right from the start that Wormtail and the other Deatheaters were ready for them, almost expecting them to strike exactly when they did. As Harry plummeted towards the altar, intending to sweep the unconscious Fred from its surface and climb back up into the sky, Wormtail quickly cast a binding spell which sealed Fred to the surface of the stone, making it impossible for Harry to do more than retreat empty handed. Ron fared little better. Having ploughed into a waiting group of Deatheaters, he discovered that they were more than ready for him and was fighting desperately to fend them off. Harry could see the flashes and smoke from high in the sky as he banked hard, preparing for another dive. Lee was nowhere to be seen, but a commotion off to the left somewhere indicated that he also was fighting for his life.  
  
"BE STILL!" A curiously quiet, evil voice rang out in everyone's ears. The fighting stopped instantly and all eyes turned towards the altar. The figure of Voldemort had materialised, unsteady and two-dimensional it was true, but as going a concern as Harry had ever seen him.  
  
"In a few moments," the figure said, "I shall take possession of this new body, and through it the world!"  
  
There was a ragged cheer from the Deatheaters. Voldemort gestured to them.  
  
"Bring me the prisoners."  
  
Harry watched in pain as Lee and Ron were flung unceremoniously to the ground before Voldemort. Ginny followed swiftly on their heels, still looking dazed: she didn't even seem to have pulled her wand out of its holster.  
  
"And here is one more," smiled Voldemort. He snapped his fingers. "Wormtail?" Immediately, Wormtail delved in a pocket to produce a small, struggling creature with red fur. Voldemort pointed his wand at it.  
  
"Transform, or you die now!" The weasel immediately shimmered and enlarged, becoming a dejected-looking George Weasley. He shrugged at the others.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. "They were ready for me, even in my animal form!"  
  
"Silence!" roared Voldemort. He looked upwards, straight at Harry who was still on his broomstick, concealed by the low cloud.  
  
"Potter," he said, in a quieter tone. "As you can see, I have your friends. It is possible I will spare one of them, if you will give yourself up now."  
  
Harry had no choice. He flew his broomstick as close to the ground as possible, sliding gracefully from its polished handle to stand next to Ron. He looked at them sorrowfully, but no words would come. He tried to catch Ginny's eye, but she was still caught in her trance, her eyes vacant, her lips vibrating slightly. Voldemort smiled, an evil, satisfied smile.  
  
"So, Potter, we meet again, but in circumstances which are, I fear, not exactly to your liking." Harry sighed.  
  
"There have been no pleasurable occasions on which we have met, you know that, Tom," Harry replied almost amiably. Voldemort frowned.  
  
"You will not call me by that name." Harry raised an enquiring eyebrow.  
  
"Whyever not?" he said. "It's your given name, isn't it?" Voldemort growled angrily.  
  
"The name of my father - that cursed Muggle, who I killed as soon as I had attained a modicum of power. I do not acknowledge him, or his name!"  
  
"That's a shame," said Harry, mildly. "My father's name was James. You killed him too. Do you have some problem with fathers, Tom?"  
  
Voldemort was angry enough to explode and seemed to control himself only with difficulty.  
  
"You will die very painfully and slowly for that, Potter," he snarled, softly and with undeniable menace. But Harry was no longer paying attention to Voldemort; neither was anyone else. They all stared at Ginny.  
  
Ginny stood a little apart from the others, serene and empty-eyed in the face of death. The Deatheaters surrounding her drew back in confusion as an odd metamorphosis commenced. She was still trancelike, but a greenish light emanated from her robes and her face began to glow with a ghostly radiance. She held her arms up to the standing stones surrounding them and spoke in a suddenly clear, resonant voice; a voice completely unlike her own:  
  
"When the Dead One returns to claim his own, the Living Boy and the Dryad must unite in love, and take the Cup of Plenty from the hands of the Pure One to return it to its rightful place."  
  
Slowly, she turned towards Ron and held out her hands. There was no recognition in her eyes.  
  
"You are the Pure One, the keeper of the Grail." she said, "I am the Dryad. Give the Grail to me so that it may be returned to its proper place."  
  
Unable to tear his eyes from her face, Ron fumbled in his pocket until he produced the Grail, golden and shining in the eerie green light. Voldemort gave a sudden hiss, quickly choked off. Ginny took the chalice, turned and moved across the grass towards Harry, almost as if she were gliding.  
  
"Harry," she said, and her voice had taken on an extra resonance that cut through the sudden silence like a knife. "You are the Living Boy. You must join with the Dryad now, through the Grail."  
  
Harry understood none of this. Nothing that was happening now made any sense to him, despite his long association with arcane magical practices and occurrences. Nevertheless, in blind faith, he moved towards the creature that was Ginny and placed his hands over hers, grasping the cup securely. Just as before, in the temple, he felt a sudden surge of power stab through his mind. Ginny was there with him, part of him, merged in a unity of consciousness which this time knew no barriers, no obstacles, merely the love and trust of two generous souls whose faith was only equalled by their bravery.  
  
Ginny, what's happening?  
  
I wish I knew! All I know is that I'm following instructions.  
  
What instructions? Who from?  
  
Again, I don't know. Harry, look at the Grail!  
  
In response to the mental instruction, Harry focussed back on the outside world and saw the golden cup begin to glow with an inner light. As he watched, the radiance increased, spiralling out towards the surrounding Deatheaters. Paralysed, they gazed curiously at the light then howled in agony as it touched them. A wash of brilliance sent the gang reeling back, hands over their eyes. All except Harry and Ginny who stood motionless, holding the Grail firmly between them.  
  
Squinting against the glare, Ron could just discern something taking shape. Its outlines were human, but it seemed to consist entirely of a pearly opalescence. Its robes were pure white, not wizard robes but something resembling the flowing drapery worn by the ancient Greeks. There was a deafening silence then the figure spoke in a clear, silvery voice, curiously androgenous:  
  
"I am a Lord of the High Magic, remote from the affairs of your plane. The pursuits of good and evil are not my concern, yet once I lived among you and for this reason, and for the sake of the artefact you bear, I have answered your call for help.  
  
"You face great danger to your immortal souls in this place, but you undertook the burden freely for the sake of the love you bear each other, and to save your world from mortal peril. For these things I honour you, and also the one of your number who has been struck down in her earthly body.  
  
"The one who seeks to harm you is no longer part of your world and his attempts to pass between planes are illegal and cannot be tolerated. However, his destruction would threaten the eternal balance and equally cannot be contemplated. Therefore I shall return you to your own plane with the assurance that you will no longer be threatened by your enemy at any time during the remainder of your natural lives."  
  
"What?" stuttered Harry. "You mean Voldemort will still be alive?"  
  
"If the existence he holds at present can be so described, yes." the figure replied equably. "You have done as much as you are able, but his ultimate destruction lies in another future at other hands. However, I will banish him to a far plane where his destructive power will serve him not at all in the business of survival. Farewell my children: may your lives be long and may happiness stay with you always."  
  
The light grew more and more intense until, shielding their tear-filled eyes with their hands, each of those left fell away into merciful darkness.  
  
Then there was total silence, broken only by the distant sound of birdsong: dawn had come at last.  
  
**********************************************  
  
Harry awoke instantly, all in one moment, and sat up suddenly, staring. The first thing he saw was Ginny, hovering anxiously over him. As she saw him stir, she spoke over her shoulder to someone out of Harry's field of vision.  
  
"George! George, he's alive and awake, thank Merlin!"  
  
The grinning figure of George Weasley appeared and grasped Harry's hand, pulling him bodily to his feet. Harry thought he must be hallucinating as the same face seemed to be sporting an identical grin over Ginny's shoulder, but to his delight he realised it was Fred. Almost simultaneously, he heard a shout of wonder and disbelief and turned to see Ron, his eyes overflowing with tears of astonishment and gratitude, holding tightly to the hand of a bleary-eyed and rather confused Hermione! Harry looked around him, expecting to see open sky, grass and the huge standing monoliths of the great monument known as Stonehenge. Instead he realised that he and the others were back inside the West Room at Harry's House, and sunlight was pouring in through the windows.  
  
"Well, well, well!" he murmured quietly, the beginnings of a smile creasing his face. Ron, still clutching Hermione's hand as though he expected her to suddenly disappear, brought her over to Harry, his face childlike with wonder.  
  
"Harry, she's alive," he said, unnecessarily. "How? What happened here?"  
  
"Of course I'm alive!" retorted Hermione, impatiently. "What on earth are you wittering on about, Ron?" Harry shook his head, his smile rapidly becoming a grin.  
  
"The High Magic." he replied. "Who knows what motivates it, or even what it is? But it saved us this time. And it was all down to you, Ginny." The red-haired girl stared at him with wide eyes.  
  
"Me?" she squeaked. "But I didn't - I mean, I don't remember - "  
  
"You called the High Magic, sister mine!" George told her, enveloping her in a bear hug, "I really didn't know you had it in you, but you were the Dryad the prophecy spoke of."  
  
"Yeah, and Ron really was the Pure One, despite all the jibes from you two."  
  
It was Lee speaking to the Weasley twins, who at least had the grace to look slightly abashed. Harry turned to face his friends.  
  
"Last night," Harry began thoughtfully, "if indeed it was last night, I banished Voldemort and his minions from this room. The Invocation I used was a very old one, taught to me by Albus Dumbledore shortly before he died. He told me never to use it except in the direst circumstances, when my very soul was in danger of destruction." Harry wandered over to the window and looked out into the morning.  
  
"Albus didn't explain why he was teaching it to me, or even what the spell would accomplish," Harry continued, "but I believe its power transported us out of this house, out of this world, onto another plane of existence, where we could call upon higher assistance to save both ourselves and our world." He shook his head in wonder.  
  
"Albus knew I would be fighting for my life, without his help." Harry looked at the others in bewilderment. "Did he foresee this very situation, do you think? I know he was many things, but I never heard him described as a Seer."  
  
Ginny stared at Harry, her eyes enormous, her hand over her mouth.  
  
"The Lord of the High Magic, who helped us. Do you think - was it - Dumbledore? He said he had once lived among us ." Her voice trailed off in awe.  
  
"He said he would return us to our own dimension too," said Ron, breathlessly. "He must have been responsible for bringing Hermione back."  
  
"I don't believe Hermione ever really died in this world," replied Harry, thoughtfully. "I think my spell took her beyond the reach of the Avada curse just in time, but prevented her from accompanying us any further, leaving her in some kind of - limbo, if you like."  
  
"Of course I didn't die, Harry!" Hermione retorted. "What is this fixation you all seem to have with my death?"  
  
"The Lord also said he would banish Voldemort to a far less friendly world than you sent him to, Harry." added George, ignoring Hermione's outburst.  
  
"I hope he keeps his word!" growled Lee.  
  
"Look, I'm a bit confused." Hermione interrupted in a protesting voice. "I seem to have missed out on something here - more like several somethings actually, and Ron won't let go of my hand. He says he's afraid I'll die on him again!"  
  
The others laughed.  
  
"Go on, Ron, take her away and tell her all about it." George said, patting Ron on the arm.  
  
"And don't come back until you're married - or at least engaged!" shouted Fred after their retreating backs. Harry snuck a quick look at Ginny, but she wouldn't quite meet his eyes.  
  
"Hey!" shouted Lee from a far corner of the room. "Look at this. I mean, is this thing supposed to still be here?"  
  
He pointed to something standing quietly on its own, nearly touching the wall, just as bright and golden as it had been when Ron had taken it out of the temple.  
  
"The Holy Grail," whispered George reverently. Harry said nothing, merely walked over to it and picked it up without hesitation.  
  
"The power," he said, faintly, "has gone out of it, I think. At least for the time being." He smiled and looked round at the others.  
  
"I think this had better become the property of the Ministry; for now at any rate," he decided. "Anyone mind if I'm credited with its discovery?"  
  
Grinning like a maniac, Harry promptly ducked and ran from the West Room as Fred, George, Lee and Ginny followed him, pelting him over the head with pillows.  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


	10. Chapter Ten Epilogue

"A Most Ingenious Paradox" [A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Penpusher]  
Chapter Ten - Epilogue  
  
"For goodness sake, Harry, leave that car alone and get back here. Haven't you and my brothers done enough to it?"  
  
Ginny was looking extraordinarily pretty in her new leaf-green robes with flowers in her hair, Harry had to admit, but also very impatient.  
  
"Okay, okay," he said reassuringly, casting just one final charm on the glove compartment, so that it would spring open and fling rose petals all over the passenger seat as soon as it was touched.  
  
"Harry! They're coming!"  
  
Quickly, he sprang away from the car and stood with Ginny, smiling and trying to look innocent. Ron and Hermione came out of the doors of the "Three Broomsticks" smiling and laughing, followed by Arthur and Molly Weasley and Hermione's parents, who had come out to see them off.  
  
"You have to remember my origins, Ron," Hermione was saying. "I know what traditionally happens with Muggles, but what do wizards do? Fly off on our broomsticks trailing our luggage behind. Good grief, is that.?"  
  
She turned an expression full of amazement to a grinning Ron.  
  
"Is it really.?" For once Hermione was lost for words. Ron nodded happily.  
  
"Yes, we finally managed to persuade it to come out of the forbidden forest," he said, patting the bonnet of the old Weasley Anglia fondly. The twins had given it a new coat of paint and a high gloss polish for the occasion. The car dipped its headlights proudly at Ron and the engine purred.  
  
"It's agreed to do the honours, although how long it'll be before it returns to Hogwarts remains to be seen."  
  
Hermione's expression was highly dubious, but she pinned a bright smile to her face and stepped towards the car with determination.  
  
That's my girl! thought Harry, fondly. That's why the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor.  
  
By this time most of the guests had spilled out into the main street of Hogsmeade, and many of the residents had come out of their houses and shops to watch. Sirius sidled casually over to Harry.  
  
"Did you manage to.?"  
  
Harry nodded, his eyes still on Hermione, who was now being helped into the car by Ron. Really, she did look positively beautiful today in her pure white robes and coronet of white summer flowers. But, he reflected, if a girl can't look stunning on her wedding day, when can she?  
  
"You sure you cast it on his pyjamas?" Sirius was insistent.  
  
"Of course," replied Harry, "although looking at the two of them now, I hardly think it'll be necessary!"  
  
Indeed, as soon as Ron had slid into the driver's seat, his lips had slid on to Hermione's despite her protests, although Harry had to admit, it certainly did look as though she wouldn't be doing much more protesting over the next few days! Sirius relaxed.  
  
"I just wanted to keep up the tradition, that's all."  
  
"Eh?" Harry was puzzled.  
  
"Oh, didn't I ever tell you?" Sirius' voice was just a little too casual, and his face broke into a broad grin.  
  
"We cast a very similar charm on your father's nightwear when he and your mother were married," he said offhandedly. "The feedback from their honeymoon was - well, you don't want to hear about that, I'm sure!"  
  
But Harry's eyes lit up with interest.  
  
"Don't bet on it, Black," he replied. "How much do you need to drink before I can get that story out of you?"  
  
Ron was revving up the engine, preparing to drive off.  
  
"More than you can afford, Potter, believe me!"  
  
Sirius gave him a wide, wicked grin, then a particularly loud roar from the Anglia engine made him turn his head. The old car suddenly levitated with surprising smoothness for such a beaten up old machine, swooped low over their heads making the guests shriek and duck for cover, and took off over the village of Hogsmeade with the Weasley twins in hot pursuit, shouting and laughing. The car rose higher and suddenly winked out as though it had never been.  
  
Harry glanced over at Hermione's parents to see her mother crying quietly into a handkerchief and being comforted by her father. To his astonishment, Molly Weasley was also sniffling slightly, although the poisonous look she turned on Arthur when he offered her his hanky gave Harry the idea that she wasn't keen on being thought of as sentimental.  
  
As he watched, Bill came over and said something to Molly, leading her away to where his wife and two young children were just going back into the bar. Arthur was by now chatting to Mr. Granger and was joined by Charlie with Fred and George, once they had returned from following the honeymoon car. Percy and his wife Penny were talking with Lavender and her fiancé, Aurelius, and Parvati and Padma, looking utterly beautiful in their brightly coloured silk robes, were being escorted in, by Seamus and Dean, for some refreshment before the dancing started up again. Dean didn't look too happy with some of the teasing he had been getting, notably from the Weasleys, Harry observed with a smile. Seamus and Parvati were pretty much an item, but Dean and Padma were genuinely "just good friends", and the implications being thrown at them were making Dean quite uncomfortable.  
  
Harry knocked back the last of his Gillywine and made tracks towards the bar, where the Weasley brothers were engaged in buying most of it.  
  
"Hey Harry!" Charlie hailed him cheerfully, "Three pints or four?"  
  
Harry shook his head smiling and looked around for Ginny. He spotted her sitting with Parvati and smiled as she raised a hand and beckoned him over. Harry's memories of Parvati and her sister at Hogwarts had never been entirely comfortable, but she seemed to be making Seamus happy, so he swallowed his uneasiness and joined them. Parvati was overflowing with some kind of excitement.  
  
"Is it true? Really? After all these years?" Harry frowned.  
  
"Is what true, Parvati?"  
  
"You know what I mean!" she replied, gesturing impatiently. "Ron told Seamus, who told Dean, who told Padma, who told me. How long has this been going on?" Harry glanced at his watch.  
  
"Oh, about - mmm, let me see." he replied, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "Forty minutes for the service, an hour for the wedding lunch, thirty minutes for speeches, a little more for farewells and so on - about two and a half hours." Harry looked back at Parvati with guileless eyes.  
  
"Why do you ask? Did you forget your watch this morning?" he enquired mildly. "Or have you a train to catch?"  
  
Parvati stared at Ginny who just smiled sweetly and shrugged, then she glared at Harry in intense irritation.  
  
"Well, if you're not going to tell me all about how you got together, I shall go and ask Fred and George." She gave a sudden grin. "Knowing them, I'm likely to get far more of the dirt than I would have from you!"  
  
Ginny's smile wobbled slightly and her face grew a shade or two paler, but Harry looked on benignly as Parvati swept away towards the bar with a triumphant smirk on her face.  
  
"Harry," Ginny began, urgently tugging on his sleeve, "I'm never going to live it down if Fred and George tell her about the - you know, the new bath!" Harry put a soothing hand on her arm.  
  
"Don't worry," he replied, with a strange little smile. "There are certain things I could let slip about your brothers that they wouldn't want Parvati spreading around either. And they know it!"  
  
Ginny smiled gratefully at him and shyly took his hand, twining her fingers round his.  
  
"Well," Harry said briskly. "What's it going to be? A drink? A dance? Or both?" He gestured to the bar and also to the band who had started playing again.  
  
"Mmm, a dance, I think," Ginny replied. "Now that the happy couple have gone, I feel I can let my hair down a little."  
  
"The happy couple," mused Harry, rising automatically from his seat to guide Ginny on to the dance floor. "D'you know, if Hermione hadn't been so worried about her parents' reaction, I think she and Ron would just have carried on as they were." Ginny giggled and covered her mouth with her hand.  
  
"Well, it was rather amusing at the time," she protested at Harry's old- fashioned look. "He refused to let her out of his sight for a week after Stonehenge! In fact, he didn't let go of her hand for the whole day after he got her back."  
  
"Or night either - if Fred is to be believed."  
  
"Harry!"  
  
"Okay, okay." Ginny said, executing an expert twirl that rather caught Harry by surprise.  
  
"If you want my opinion," she continued, grinning impishly up at him, "I reckon Hermione only agreed to marry my brother so she could get some work done."  
  
"Eh?"  
  
"Well, even when he'd recovered a bit from losing her, he still haunted her chambers. You know, escorting her there, meeting her every lunchtime, taking her home every evening - not to mention the fact that he never went back to his flat again, just moved in to Hermione's room without a by-your- leave!"  
  
Harry smiled reminiscently then gave a slight frown.  
  
"Well," he said, "actually, he did speak to me about it, if the truth be known."  
  
"He did?"  
  
"Yeah, he wanted to know about terms and conditions of the lease, that sort of thing. Whether Hermione would be sub-letting her room if he moved in, or whether he would be a tenant in his own right!"  
  
Harry threw back his head and joined in Ginny's laughter. The music changed to a slower tempo and he drew her closer, smiling as she leaned her head against his shoulder.  
  
"So, Harry's House is going to have a rather radical change of personnel," Ginny said, wistfully. Harry nodded.  
  
"Yup. Ron wants his flat as the marital home, so Lee, George and Oliver are moving in with us, and Hermione, of course, is moving out."  
  
"Goodness! Two of my madcap brothers in the same house?" They both glanced automatically towards the bar to where the three Weasley brothers were sinking pint after pint amidst frequent gales of laughter. Harry winced and shook his head.  
  
"It won't be quite as bad as that," he reassured Ginny. "Charlie'll be in Rumania for most of the year, and Oliver's on tour for at least six out of the twelve months. Also, the last time I spoke to him, Fred was considering getting a place on his own." Ginny raised her eyebrows and Harry smiled, shaking his head.  
  
"I don't know that you should read anything of a romantic nature into that," he continued. "Fred plays his cards very close to his chest on all counts. However, I do know that for professional reasons, your brothers have always tried to avoid living together."  
  
Ginny was silent for a moment, trying to picture the domestic arrangements as Harry had described them, then she laughed.  
  
"Is there room in that mansion for all of us?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, plenty of room," Harry replied heartily, "particularly if you move in with me!" His wicked grin belied the slight question-mark against his statement. Ginny smiled.  
  
"I might just as well make it official, I suppose," she replied. "Seeing as, after all the trouble you, Hermione and Fred went to, I seem to have spent precious little time in my own room since moving in!"  
  
Absently, Harry kissed the top of her head.  
  
"Hermione was somewhat pissed at us, I can tell you," he replied. "Her exact words were, and I quote: 'If I'd known that you were going to jump her as soon as she set foot over the doorstep, I'd have set up a camp bed in the dining room for form's sake and saved myself a whole day's lost research work!'"  
  
Ginny let out a peal of laughter and Harry hugged her, chuckling himself at the memory.  
  
"You know," Ginny remarked thoughtfully as they danced, "I've only been living in Harry's House for a couple of months, but I'm really going to miss Hermione. And quite apart from the effect on my reputation once it becomes known that I'm the only girl in a house full of blokes, I feel I ought to have some female company." Harry grinned.  
  
"Which do you think will suffer the most from your being incarcerated with the equivalent of an all-male Quidditch team?" he asked lightly. "Your credibility, your femininity or your sanity?" Ginny made a sound half- laugh, half-cough.  
  
"All three, I should imagine!" she replied, highly diverted at the prospect.  
  
"Seriously, Ginny, I think you're right." Harry continued, musingly. "There's room in the house for at least two other people without the rest of us noticing their presence, not to mention the attics and the basement which are huge and could be converted. I think we should look for some other girls to keep you company." He grinned broadly. "I'd be happy to help you select and interview your housemates, if you like?" Ginny threw a sour glance at his smiling face.  
  
"Oh, you!" she protested, batting him gently on the shoulder, but unable to resist smirking slightly at the prospect.  
  
"Come on," she pulled at his arm. "I've had enough dancing for now. Let's see if my brothers have drunk our drinks as well as their own." They weaved their way through the other dancers to join the Weasleys at the bar.  
  
*******************************************  
  
Five weeks later saw a smaller group of friends assembled for a slightly more formal occasion at the Ministry's Museum of Magical Artefacts. Minister Cornelius Fudge was presenting awards for services to magic, and Harry was to be honoured for his work in recovering lost artefacts, both in China and India. Ron and Hermione were there, both still radiant from their honeymoon, Percy and Penelope had favoured him with their presence; Lee and also George had come to endorse the event. Fred was noticeable by his absence, but George confided that he was abroad yet again, this time on official ministry business rather than undercover. Oliver Wood had also turned up with Lee, much to Harry's great surprise and delight, and Arthur and Molly had come, at which Harry was very touched. He had only seen them once since his return to England, and not at all in his previous four-year exile, but they seemed just as friendly and hospitable as ever. I hope they're as happy as Fred and George were that Ginny's seeing me instead of that pratt Markland Harry thought. He had good reason to be grateful to the Muggle, considering that he, Harry, would never have ended up with Ginny if Markland hadn't been such a prize klutz. Despite this, Harry found it difficult to look back on him with any sort of patience all the same.  
  
Cornelius Fudge bored the socks off his audience with a speech that lasted twice as long as the presentations themselves, but the buffet was excellent and the Gillywine flowed like water. Once they had eaten and drunk sufficiently, Harry and Ginny wandered around the museum with interest. It was not usually open to anyone but Ministry staff and Ginny had never had the opportunity to visit, so she was keen to make the most of it.  
  
A vast array of objects greeted them, including the famous sapphire Ring of Aphrodite, which bestowed great powers of sensuality on the wearer - so long as the wearer was female!  
  
"Goodness!" exclaimed Ginny, flattening her nose against the glass case. "Veela magic in ring form. No wonder it's behind glass in a museum!"  
  
"And it can stay there as far as I'm concerned," murmured Harry from somewhere in the vicinity of her ear. "You don't need a vulgar bauble like that to get my attention!"  
  
He kissed the back of her neck making her squirm and giggle. They moved over to the next case, which was new and sported a shiny brass plaque:  
  
Grail c.500 AD Magical cup or chalice, once associated with the Great Merlin. Believed to have been taken from the High Magic by the Muggle Sir Galahad of the Round Table of King Arthur's knights, but later lost during the Dark Ages after Arthur's death. Recovered by Dr. H.J. Potter and Mr. R. Weasley.  
  
"Wow, Harry!" said Ginny, staring at Harry with such shining eyes that he blushed and looked at his feet. "I didn't realise you were a doctor. When did that happen?" He shrugged.  
  
"Oh, it's an honorary title really. It was given to me by LA Wizarding University after I wrote a couple of papers about my travels."  
  
A small silence followed Harry's first mention of his job since the crisis in the temple had blown up. Ginny moved away slightly, her attention apparently absorbed in the exhibits. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.  
  
"Er, Ginny," he began. "Um, about the LA job." Taking a breath, Ginny turned an unnecessarily cheerful smile on him.  
  
"It's okay, Harry," she interrupted. "I know you really enjoy your work and you couldn't do anything else, at least for now." Harry looked troubled.  
  
"Yes, that's true," he began, worriedly. "And you do realise that my work takes me abroad to some very far flung places, don't you? I'm away for large chunks of the year." Ginny swallowed, but maintained her composure.  
  
"Of course I know that!" she replied, brightly. "And after all, my career is only just beginning to take off too. I have such a lot of work piling up, and so many opportunities - I'm trying out with a couple of bands next week for a recording contract, and the solo stuff is really starting to catch on, I'm getting so many engagements! I'm going to be very busy through the next couple of years."  
  
Harry looked slightly nonplussed, but she continued, smiling.  
  
"We'll just have to get through it, that's all," Ginny went on. "We'll have to make unbreakable dates for times during the year when we know we've just got to drop everything to be together for a week or even just a weekend. I'm sorry, Harry."  
  
Her face fell and suddenly she looked like Ron's little sister once again.  
  
"I just can't leave everything I've worked for here and follow you over to LA," she told him sadly. "Not just to twiddle my thumbs for months while you're away in Outer Mongolia. At least, I can't until I'm better established to break into the American market."  
  
Harry took her by the shoulders, and shook her gently until she stopped talking.  
  
"I wouldn't dream of suggesting such a thing," he told her firmly. Ginny's face was a picture of astonishment. He smiled. "What I was about to say was that once this semester is over, I won't be going back to the Los Angeles Wizarding University." Her jaw dropped.  
  
"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, shocked. "But what will you do? I mean, you love your job, right? What else could you ever do in life?"  
  
Harry began to laugh, sweeping her into his arms, grinning broadly.  
  
"Ginny, my dear," he beamed. "I'm not employed by LA University, I'm on secondment. From UWIZ in London, where I have tenure. All I have to do is transfer back. Of course, I'll still be away for some quite extended periods - I have a suspicion that a trip to Mexico may be in the offing - but at least we'll be together for some of the year rather than being a Continent apart."  
  
He stood smiling, enjoying the look of total astonishment on her face. Ginny stared at him in disbelief then flung her arms around his neck, for once speechless.  
  
"So we'll be able to stay as we are - at Harry's House?" she gasped, finally. "Oh, I don't know what to say, I'm so happy!"  
  
"Well," replied Harry, rather more seriously. "It needn't be exactly as we are, you know. We could, well, change the legal arrangements at some stage. If you wanted to, that is." He paused for a moment. "Look, I know I'm not putting this very well, but ."  
  
Ginny placed her index finger over his lips before he could say another word. She was very still for a moment, then she released her stranglehold around his neck and stepped backwards a little, staring thoughtfully into his face.  
  
"Harry," she began seriously. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I won't pretend to misunderstand what you're saying; that would be insulting."  
  
Ginny paused again then turned away from Harry, leaning against one of the museum glass cases. Inside was a large, silver cup, its gaudy stem studded with rubies and sapphires, its base of platinum gleaming brightly in the artificial light. Idly, her brain preoccupied with other things, Ginny read the legend beneath it:  
  
Chalice c.1350 AD  
  
Drinking vessel created by the wizard Geraldo Veneficus for employment in the Courts of Europe. The chalice is known to have dispatched five noblemen troublesome to Geraldo's patron, and also one professional rival. Its function is not only to render its own contents toxic, but also the contents of any other drinking vessel within a radius of two feet. Rendered harmless by Ministry Officials. Recovered by Dr. Ignatius Radcliffe, Florence.  
  
Ginny fought down an insane desire to laugh. A poisoned chalice: how very appropriate! Indeed, how could she be sure that Harry's offer of marriage would not turn out to be a poisoned chalice in its own right? She shook her head impatiently: that was thoroughly unfair. Whatever else was a mystery to her, Ginny was sure that Harry's offer was sincere according to his own lights. What she found difficult even to process, never mind comprehend, was why.  
  
What went on in that intricate brain, that highly intelligent, specialized thinking machine that was the essence of Harry Potter? After all, it had been a matter of a few scant weeks since that oddly euphoric moving-in party, and here he was proposing marriage! She wondered if Harry was a Seer. If he had a vision, a precognition concerning their relationship, then. Ginny shook her head once again. She had no reason to suppose that Harry's opinion of Divination as a discipline had undergone any great metamorphosis since his Hogwarts days. It was unlikely, to say the least.  
  
Ginny tried to force the rational side of her brain to think about things sensibly and logically, but try as she might, she could not suppress a small voice whispering quietly, relentlessly, at the back of her mind. Ginny loved Harry with all her being. She knew this just as she knew the sun would rise at the start of each day and go down at the end of it. She had always been certain of her feelings, even as she had tried to deny them. What she could not know, nor could she predict, was how Harry truly felt about her. I could marry him anyway and find out later. At least then I'd have him for myself. She shook her head once again. She would never own Harry Potter; no one could.  
  
The scrape of a foot against marble flooring alerted Ginny that Harry was still waiting patiently for her answer. She lifted her head, sighed and prepared to turn around, but at that moment she felt gentle hands on her shoulders completing the motion for her. Hesitantly, she looked up into his face to find him wearing a familiar, lopsided smile; this, she was learning, was an expression he habitually wore when faced with something he could neither predict nor control.  
  
"By the fact that you haven't fallen rapturously into my arms," Harry began ironically, "I gather that your answer must be in the negative?" Dumbly and with a sinking heart, Ginny inclined her head. Harry gave a small sigh and nodded in acceptance. He let his arms drop from her shoulders and turned away from her, resting his hands on his hips and looking up to the ceiling.  
  
"I'm sorry." Ginny's whispered words produced no reaction. "Please say something."  
  
"What's there to say?" Harry ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I thought we had something, Ginny."  
  
"We did! We do!" In exasperation, Ginny grabbed Harry's hands and forced him to look at her.  
  
"Look," she said, "the idea's wonderful - of course it is! We're good together and we could be even better. But Harry, we've been together a matter of weeks." Harry shook his head firmly.  
  
"Rubbish!" he responded, rudely. "Ginny, we've known each other since we were children. We were virtually brought up together, for Merlin's sake!"  
  
"Yes, and that's just the point!" Ginny's voice rose to commanding pitch. Before Harry could interrupt, she rushed ahead rapidly.  
  
"I've never known you as anything other than Harry the Hero, or Ron's best friend," she told him breathlessly. "You never gave me any kind of encouragement - the closest I got to you was providing a shoulder to cry on in your last year at Hogwarts. Flamel's Stone, Harry, you're like another brother!"  
  
Harry's mouth quirked slightly. He scratched his head and considered.  
  
"I confess, when you put it that way." he broke off with a grimace that rapidly morphed into a tentative smile. Ginny let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"I'm not refusing you outright," she continued in more normal tones, "just suggesting that we, well, wait a while. See where our relationship goes and how our lives fit together before we take any drastic steps. I mean, you're officially still on summer vacation, aren't you? We've yet to find out what it's really like to live together, day in, day out. For all you know, I may be a closet alcoholic - or persistently leave discarded lingerie all over your bedroom floor!" Harry grinned.  
  
"Very likely," he replied. "The lingerie thing, I mean!" he added quickly as Ginny narrowed her eyes theatrically. Harry put his hands on her shoulders once again.  
  
"Take as long as you need, Ginny," he said, solemnly. "I'll be here for you whatever. Although I confess, I draw the line at toenail clippings in the bath!" Ginny opened her eyes wide in outrage before she realised he was joking.  
  
"Oh, you!" She grinned and poked him in the ribs where he was most ticklish. He jumped then recovered, smiling back at her and tucking her arm into his as they continued round the exhibits.  
  
"Well, this has been a day for revelations!" she said with a sigh. "Is there much more to discover about you, Harry Potter? Because if there is, I think I need to sit down first!" He grinned wickedly and bent to bring his mouth to her ear.  
  
"If we step out into that deserted hall right now and Apparate back to the house," he whispered, "I'd be extremely willing to give you an entire voyage of discovery - oof!"  
  
He doubled up, slightly winded by the elbow she had just planted in his gut. He looked up to observe her, head held high, stalking back into the reception room in high dudgeon, but her hips were swinging just for him and as he watched, she threw a smile over her shoulder, the 'come hither' quality of which was unmistakeable. He laughed to himself and followed her out of the room. Ginny was his girl, he knew it. It would take time but, well, he could wait. Harry Potter was used to waiting.  
FINIS .  
Author's Notes  
  
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author. Disclaimer: this is a non-profit enterprise. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot and David Markland, both of which belong to Penpusher. Tribute to: Susan Cooper's incomparable "The Dark is Rising" sequence for use of the "High Magic"; Dennis Wheatley for a plot device; and many, many other fanfiction writers whose works of all kinds and in very differing genres have been an immense inspiration to me. The quotations used as chapter titles are too numerous to credit here. Full details available on request, but Shakespeare and The Bible should yield most of them.  
  
And all the thanks in the world to Becky (aka williara) for being a superb beta. 


End file.
